


Error 404: Crowley's Brain Cell Not Found

by ineffablefool



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: (aziraphale is fat and round and beautiful thank you and good day), Alternate Universe - Human, Asexual Relationship, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Eventual Romance, Happy Ending, Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), No Sex, No Smut, Other, Pining, because obviously, but mild silly pining, crowley is completely useless around aziraphale but derives no particular angst from it, fat positivity, i mean not right at the start but they will because obviously, swears and ableist language mostly because Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:55:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22544389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineffablefool/pseuds/ineffablefool
Summary: The "information technology professional coworkers" human Ineffable Husbands AU which... someone needed, possibly.  Aziraphale is very fat and very pretty, Crowley is a lovestruck disaster, and your author is an IT professional who has seen alotin a surprisingly short amount of time.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 914
Kudos: 523
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome back to the Soft Zone(TM)!
> 
> My brain likes to give me a lot of AU ideas, and here is one of them: Crowley works in IT (as a web developer); Aziraphale also works in IT (as a sysadmin); they're both living in a slightly-fictionalized version of my own Madison, Wisconsin, where they get hired to the same company during a departmental reorg; and eventually they will kiss. Everyone is human and nobody can do miracles. ...although Aziraphale could use a few, given the state of the network he's inheriting. You probably wouldn't believe me if I told you how much of the work shenanigans are based on actual events. No particular update schedule planned; I do not currently expect more than six chapters max. (Edit, having just posted chapter 8: ahahaha whoops. Let's scratch "six" and put "ten".) (...eleven. It's eleven.)
> 
> If you enjoyed my previous AU (If Not Now, When), please be aware that this is _not_ another INNW. Nobody is working through old wounds. There is no internalized fatphobia, and if Crowley is trans here (your choice, but I didn't write the representation so I don't get to claim credit for it), he is (and, importantly, _feels_ ) fully respected by society as his correct gender. (He's still a disaster around Aziraphale, but he's not angsting over it.)
> 
> This story will still be 100% ace, and 100% fat-positive. Because hello, have we met, my name is Jack.
> 
> I'm writing for the TV characterization, but I've decided that my written Aziraphale is visibly fat. Tumblr and AO3 user Squeegeelicious has created [this absolutely gorgeous artwork](https://ineffablefool.tumblr.com/post/189282541139/squeegeelicious-a-walk-to-the-ritz-for) for my first human AU [If Not Now, When](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20936816), which should help you know what to visualize as you read!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-level warning notes:** The word "fat" is used as a neutral-to-positive descriptor.

“...and the Operations Manager, Karen, is right over here outside the systems area.” Ben knocked on the metal corner of the cube. “Good afternoon, Karen! I have Crowley here!”

Crowley made small talk with her for a couple of minutes, same as Ben had had him do with everyone else in the department. She commented on his accent, how interesting it was that he was from England, oh what part of England, oh where is that? He politely went through it for the whatevereth time that day. At least she didn’t ask about the sunglasses.

His new boss stood by cheerfully. Was an awfully extroverted person to be working in IT, and it seemed like he thought everyone else was, too. No big deal. Crowley could think of much worse qualities in a supervisor.

The “systems area” was a smallish open space, walled on three sides, with a locked door on the left wall. There were two cubes, although only the one closer to that door looked like it was being used. Ben noticed Crowley peeking into the darkened space as they went by, and his smile went brittle. “Our new sysadmin is at the colo site[1] this week. He’s still inventorying the equipment — turns out our previous admin didn’t leave much documentation behind when he, uh, departed.”

“‘Aziraphale Eastgate’,” Crowley read off the cube nametag.

“He was hired in the first wave after the reorg, a couple weeks before you. And he’s also English, so you’ll probably have a lot in common.” 

Crowley smiled politely.

Ben kept walking them back to where the Web Services team sat. “Very smart guy, but maybe a little... overprotective of the infrastructure. He gave a couple of the developers a real earful last week after they updating some settings without submitting a change form. Be careful about that kind of thing, unless you want to deal with... well...”

Crowley grinned. “The avenging angel of the network? I’ll try to avoid his wrath.”

* * *

Most of his first day was just HR stuff, meeting the rest of the department, and getting his computer set up. His second day, Tuesday, the only developer who’d survived the reorg camped out in his cube.

“Nobody can figure out how to get into the SVN repo[2] to add new users, so you’ll just commit under my username until it’s decided whether we can just switch to git.” Ramona handed him a sticky note with gibberish text on it. “That’s my password. Eat it or something when you’re set up.”

Crowley wasn’t entirely sure she was kidding.

“Here, bring up remote desktop and I’ll show you how to get into your virtual machine[3]. Try not to bork it up, because the master image got corrupted, and we’ve only got one more left allocated.” 

He accepted another sticky note with more login details on it. “Can’t, uh,” he said as he typed. “Can’t make more?”

“No more space on the server. We’ve got a request for a new one, but the network guy is insisting on setting it up with a bunch of added security, and none of our dev utilities work through that. You met Aziraphale yet? Yeah, try not to. That’s my advice.” She leaned forward, glasses reflecting Crowley’s monitor. “See, Visual Studio[4] is already installed...”

* * *

On Wednesday, he actually got to write some code. Mostly just CSS[5] fixes for the news site, but a little bit of backend code, too, to dynamically render the right classes. He got everything onto the shared dev server, dropped a Jira comment letting the requester know that their urgent issue was ready for user acceptance testing, then took a walk around the campus the company shared with a few others. He’d been through this dance enough times at his last job. He knew how un-urgent stuff became as soon as the ball was back in the business unit’s court.

* * *

Thursday he knocked out a few minor tickets, and joined the rest of the team for lunch. 

Ramona was a dry-witted woman maybe a couple years on the other side of 40, short hair already totally gray and defiantly undyed. The other two developers were new hires like him — Luis, fresh off two years at the infamous puppy mill of a software company across town, and Greg, whose cube was already fully decorated with Funko Pops after two weeks on the job. They were both a good bit younger than Crowley, who’d just celebrated his thirty-ninth birthday alone at his favorite brewpub. Luis, especially, looked like someone’s kid had gotten lost in the building.

Ben took them all out to a local Tex-Mex joint. Drinks went on the company’s tab along with the food, which was apparently just an unexpected bonus of the workplace culture.

* * *

On Friday, the network guy was back from the colo site. Crowley didn’t see him, but he definitely heard him.

He was walking past the systems area, where the locked server room door was. The alcove was lit for the first time that week, and there was a steaming mug on the desk that wasn’t empty. The door to the actual server space was ajar, and one of the other developers was standing just outside it. Luis.

“What — no, I cannot just ‘switch it over real quick’!”

Crowley stopped dead. That wasn’t Luis, not with that accent. Received Pronunciation, same as Crowley defaulted to, although his teachers had all despaired of getting him to not be so relaxed about it. The mystery speaker was much more...

_Fussy_ , his brain suggested.

...much more precise. 

Luis leaned against the server room doorway, completely blocking Crowley’s view from where he was very subtly lurking out in the hall. “C’mon, man. I’ve got root on kirbserv and megaserv. If you can just give it to me on slugserv[6] for, like, a week —”

The other voice sounded like it was trying to be very patient. “Are you able to access everything you need through the Citrix portal?”[7]

A pause. “Yes...”

“Is this about wanting to use the command line[8] because you’re used to it, again?”

Luis stood up straighter, crossing his arms. “It’s just easier to —”

“I understand that it’s easier. It’s also far less secure, and that’s what this company is trying to get _away_ from. I was hired specifically to _stop_ these kinds of practices.”

There was a clattering noise. “I am _trying_ to get these decommissioned boxes out of my server room, Luis. You are not getting access to slugserv, you are still able to do your job perfectly well, _please let me work_.”

Crowley hid around the corner of a cube just in time to not be spotted by Luis as he stormed out.

The mystery voice uttered a little “Ugh!”, just as fussily as everything else it’d said. Crowley caught the briefest sight of movement through the half-open doorway before it swung closed.

He stared at the door, a little shocked at first, but then the hilarity took over and he started grinning. Holy fuck. So that was the dreaded Aziraphale. Crowley had joked his first day about the guy being an avenging angel, and now he’d nearly witnessed a smiting to prove that it maybe wasn’t so much a joke after all. Could practically smell the singed hair.

Granted, the guy’d probably be a pain in the arse to Crowley, too, as soon as their paths actually crossed, and that’d be a lot less funny. But Crowley would deal with it somehow.

* * *

He settled into a routine over the next week, coming in, grabbing a latte from the cafe downstairs, starting to familiarize himself with the code it was his job to maintain now. Most of the web apps were still in PHP 3 on a variety of legacy Linux servers[9], but he wouldn’t be working on those. Fine by him, seeing as he’d never moved past the screwing-around stage with that language. And the stuff on the new Windows server was based on an actual content management system instead of home-grown, which would simplify things.

Theoretically. “Hey, Ramona?”

“Yeees?” her voice floated back over the cube wall.

“How many people worked on this site before?” He scrolled through another code-behind. “Seeing, uh, a lot of inconsistencies. And duplicate code.”

Ramona sighed. “Yeah, that was Jerry. He... he kind of just did what he wanted. He’d read about a fun programming trick and immediately stick it in whatever he was working on.”

“Oh. So, er. The helper method that outputs names of the month by mapping to a one-based array[10] of strings. That his?”

“Yep.”

Click. “And the helper method that outputs months by mapping to a. A zero-based array. After subtracting one from the month value.”

“Uh huh.”

Click. “ _And_ the helper that actually uses DateTime.ToString[11], but then goes and stores all twelve month names in a list and...” He raised an eyebrow. “Maps them using two-letter abbreviations?”

“Oh yeah. Sounds like Jerry, all right.”

Crowley blinked at his screen for a few seconds.

“The newsletter code was his baby, though.” Ramona sounded cheerfully resigned. “Want to see it sometime?”

“ _No_. Fine without that, thanks.”

* * *

“Glad Aziraphale skipped this one,” someone muttered. “I don’t really want to get another lecture on password security.”

Crowley looked over. That was... Mike, right? One of the reporting guys, anyway. Having the whole department gathered for the monthly meeting was confusing. Too many faces out of their usual context.

“Told you he wouldn’t change the policy,” Debbie answered. 

“We never had anyone’s account stolen or whatever back when we only had to change it once a year. Once a month is ridiculous.”

“Yeah, well...”

The meeting started up. Nobody walked in late. Kind of disappointing. He’d been curious to finally see the Avenging Angel of the Network.

* * *

By his third week, Crowley was starting to assume this so-called “Aziraphale” was actually some kind of cryptid. Everyone had tales of suffering his wrath, and yeah, Crowley had heard a very proper British voice coming from the sysadmin alcove several times now. But he’d never _seen_ the guy. Maybe he was actually three aardvarks in a trenchcoat.

He strolled into the break room Tuesday afternoon, bouncing a quarter in his palm. Grab a can of soda out of the machine, go back to work. He was trying to track down a sort-order bug, and he was pretty sure he had an idea where to look next.

There were a few other people in the room, sitting at the tables, getting hot water from the coffee maker, washing up. He ignored them as he tried to decide between orange and root beer. Or one of each and mix them somehow...

“Excuse me,” he heard the woman at the sink say. “Can you hand me the scrubber over there?”

“Yes, of course.”

Crowley’s eyes widened.

“Here you are,” the voice continued. Softly precise Received Pronunciation.

Holy fuck. He was real.

Crowley turned as subtly as he could. Still debating soda choices, yup. Not at all looking over to the counter, where the infamous Aziraphale was making tea, the fire-breathing dragon of the server room, the dread Avenging —

Crowley’s breath wisped away into nothing.

— _angel_ —

He was in profile, from over here. Dressed in tan trousers, and a cozy-looking sweater vest over a blue button-up. And a... a bow tie? Whatever. Hard to concentrate on little details like that.

He was maybe average height, but twice as broad as Crowley. Very comfortably fat. His middle curved outward under the vest, touching the counter as he worked. Plenty of him everywhere else, too, legs and arms and all. His hands on the counter looked very round.

Aziraphale’s head tilted downward as he dropped a tea bag into his cup. Visible eye quietly focused on his work, beneath a gentle brow, beneath a thoughtful-looking forehead. His nose had a tiny upturn at the end. Something about the shape of his mouth, the tender set of his lips, suggested a deep familiarity with smiling, especially when combined with the delicate nest of lines around his eye. And everything was softened with that comfortable fatness, cheek plump, jaw rounded, a double chin made even more prominent by his lowered head.

His hair caught the light like a halo. A curling nimbus around his head, which looked pale as dawnlight, soft as... as angel down.

Fuck. Crowley had heard so much about Aziraphale over the last weeks, but no one had told him he was _beautiful_.

Crowley hit a button on the soda machine. Got whatever it was that came out, who cared, he’d drink it. Aziraphale glanced over at the clunking noises, and Crowley was very, very glad for the sunglasses. Covered his goddamned heart-eyes. He’d look like a pretentious idiot, as always, and not like an idiot whose guts were currently putting on a gymnastics floor routine.

Aziraphale went back to his tea. Crowley grabbed his... diet Mountain Dew, ugh... and slunk back to his cube.

* * *

Crowley didn’t really have a type.

His last boyfriend had been almost as scrawny as he was, with dark brown skin and a handsome crooked smile. Willie played guitar in a jam band and wore tie dye like he thought he’d perish without it. Always cried at the romantic bits in movies. They’d dated for a month or so before deciding they worked better as friends. Crowley still caught his band sometimes, had a beer with him afterwards.

Before that had been Vanessa, who’d been shy but brilliant, and had come up about to his chin if she stood on tiptoes. She’d been round and fat with wide arms that had draped in pretty folds. Crowley might have been falling in love with her, possibly, but then she’d gotten a job offer in New York that she couldn’t pass up. He’d thought damn hard for two weeks before finally admitting that he couldn’t go with her. 

He didn’t have a type; he’d just see another human, see something beautiful in them, and think — _Oh. Oh, let me hold your hand_. He’d wonder what it would take to make them laugh, to make their eyes sparkle. Get very interested in making that thing happen. Clothes-off activities had never interested him, so much so that he’d still never bothered. But catching someone else’s laugh with his own grinning mouth, his arms around their slim waist or their bit of pudge or their huge round belly? Yeah. Yeah, that was something he could do. Would do as often as possible, given a willing participant who hit his eye in just that right way.

Aziraphale had hit his eye. Had slammed into both the damn things, going about ninety miles an hour. Left him flat on his arse.

The Avenging Angel of the Network was beautiful, was _gorgeous_ , and definitely not a cryptid. Was probably married already, no way he was still single with looks like that, although Crowley hadn’t had enough mental bandwidth to check for a ring. But if he wasn’t...

Crowley wanted to find out what would make that pretty face smile. Wanted to find the words that would make that sweet fussy voice peal out in a laugh.

He drank his crappy soda and sighed.

* * *

_hi — I need to install a module in IIS [12] on my development VM, but I don’t have admin permission. can I get that taken care of? thanks._

_machine name: webdevel07_  
_username: netcolo\acrowley_  
_further details available on request!_

_\- Crowley_

It was his first ticket raised to the Avenging Angel. He probably didn’t need to agonize over the wording as much as he was doing. The right balance of info and brevity, the casual tone of “Look, we’re both IT professionals, I’m happy to make this as easy for you as I can because we’re all in it together” — it wasn’t like it had to be perfect. Although maybe he should put the capital letters back in. Even though he wouldn’t usually bother with something informal like this —

No. No, dammit, he needed to just send the thing. It was a bloody access request. It’d be fine.

He clicked Submit. A moment later, an email notification popped up. _Thank you for your request! Someone will get back to you within four business hours. If this is an urgent matter, please call the Service Desk at..._

He deleted it. Went back to his VM to work on something else while he waited for a real reply.

* * *

_Hello Crowley,_

_Normal Windows logins no longer have administrative access to any servers or other devices within the secured network. You will have to log in using your administrator account._

_Regards,_  
_Aziraphale_

  
_hey Aziraphale — I don’t think I’ve got one of those set up yet. Is that something you can do, or is it a service desk thing?_  
_thanks!_  
_\- Crowley_

He didn’t need to keep signing off with his name, right? People had a tendency to revert back to “Anthony” without regular reminders, but Aziraphale was presumably clever enough. You didn’t tend to make it far in his line of work if you weren’t. Probably as brilliant as he was gorgeous, knew perfectly well who he was talking to, Crowley didn’t have to waste his time with...

Crowley pulled off his sunglasses just long enough to rub his eyes. Fuck. Fuck, this was ridiculous. He’d seen the guy in the break room once, passed him in the hall twice more. No ring. He’d checked, and it wasn’t conclusive or anything, but Aziraphale’s plump fingers were as bare as they were soft-looking.

They still hadn’t said a word to each other. Aziraphale didn’t even seem to have noticed him other than that brief glance in the break room.

Crowley was acting like a fucking teenager. An asexual teenager, sure — all his fantasies were of touching that white-fluff hair, of kissing those round cheeks, of holding Aziraphale’s _hand_ — but he still remembered what that was like from the first time round, and this was it, all right. Ridiculous. He was practically forty. 

It’d been a couple years since he and Willie had dated, though. Maybe he was just lonelier than he’d realized.

_Hello Crowley,_

_Please fill out the attached form. Your direct supervisor will have to approve before administrator access can be granted._

_Please note that this is access for your VM only and does not extend to any other machines or servers, either in the netcolo domain or in the netlocal domain. Updated network policy does not allow for administrative or root access to public servers at this time without approval from the Vice President of IT._

Which all felt like boilerplate, although the last paragraph didn’t.

_Frankly, this should have been set up for you before you started. I regret that you have been inconvenienced by the oversight. I can expedite any similar requests you may have at the moment, given your manager’s approval, to catch you up a bit._

_Regards,_  
_Aziraphale_

Obviously it was just professional courtesy at work, and Aziraphale didn’t _personally_ care about Crowley’s inconvenience. Sure.

He’d bothered to type a specific response to just Crowley, though. Maybe provided him with a conversational in, the next time they passed in the hall. Oh, hey, Aziraphale, it’s Crowley, thanks for helping me out, can I show my appreciation by asking you to dinner?

Okay, maybe not that. But he could at least bloody say hi.

* * *

Aziraphale was the one who talked to him first, though.

“I’m a bit surprised you can drink that beastly sludge.”

Crowley managed to not turn his head fast enough to get whiplash. He’d been pouring himself break room coffee, not feeling like bothering with the cafe today, and he’d heard the door beep open while he was at it, but he hadn’t realized...

Aziraphale stood behind him. Soft-looking hands wrapped around his empty mug. Soft-looking hair curling sweetly around his head. Soft body not two feet away, and soft eyes, blue, his eyes were the most tender pale grayish blue —

“Uh?” Crowley put the pot back before he could drop it. “What, the coffee?”

“It’s rather terrible, I think. Granted, I’ve not been in the country two years yet, but I still can’t believe what passes for drinkable liquid in an office environment.” He tipped his mug in a little salute. “Hence why I won’t touch the stuff.”

His voice was almost melodic, as warm and proper as if he’d been raised at the BBC offices. His mouth twitched in the smallest smile.

“It’s,” Crowley mumbled. “Not that bad, I don’t think.”

The smile got a shade wider, and Crowley’s heart did a fist-pump. “And how long have _you_ been subjected to it?”

“Gh. Bout eleven years now. Time for the, whatsit, the Stockholm syndrome to set in, I guess.”

Aziraphale laughed at that.

It was sort of a high-pitched giggle, and it turned his beautiful face into something so glorious that Crowley didn’t know how he wasn’t killed dead on the spot. The soft mouth grinned, the plump cheeks pushed upward to crinkle the blue-gray eyes; and those eyes sparkled, they _glowed_ as if Crowley had filled them with utter delight —

_This. Yes. I would like to do this again. A lot. A whole bunch of a lot._

“Too lazy for tea, anyway.” He wanted to rub the back of his neck, twist his toe into the ground. Goddamned teenager. “Have to watch it and all. Too much assembly required. I like the cafe best, they do all the work for me.”

“I find that I enjoy the wait while it brews. A little meditative moment, as it were.” He gestured again with the mug, still held in both hands. “If I may...?”

Crowley stared at him for much too long before getting it. Right. The hot water spigot on the coffee maker. Aziraphale hadn’t approached him to talk; he just wanted his tea.

He slouched out of the way. “S. Sure. Be my guest.”

Aziraphale smiled at him. A real one, not just a little twitch of the lips. “Thank you, Crowley.”

The sound of his name coming from that throat did something funny to his organs. Another gymnastics routine. The Russian judge was giving it an 8.

“Yeah,” he grunted, and stumbled vaguely away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Colocated data center. Big room with many computers in it, frequently which someone else owns and you rent rack/server space in (rack as in a literal big metal rack that the computey boxes go in). Ideally you have one of these very very far away from your main location, so if something disastrous happens (hurricane or something), you have a copy of everything over at colo, two time zones away or whatever, and you can get things back up and running relatively quickly. [return to text]  
> 2\. Proper care and maintenance of code usually involves keeping it in a repository, which allows tracking things like who changed what, and when, and what all the old versions of the code were. SVN, or Subversion, is one option for this. git is another. [return to text]  
> 3\. A virtual machine is... what it sounds like, actually. It's a whole computer, with an operating system and programs running on it and everything, except it's virtual. They're useful because they can be imaged (picture copy-pasting a like 100gb file which contains the entire OS and program load. like that except not) and allocated to people without having to get a physical machine to them. Also because you can have a bunch all running on your physical computer at once, so you just have to switch windows instead of having four computers lined up on your desk. [return to text]  
> 4\. This is basically like Word for writing programs instead of essays, except it does a lot of clever things that make a developer's life much easier.[return to text]  
> 5\. Cascading Style Sheets. They cascade because you can have more specific ones that beat generic ones. ~~They're stylish because they wear tartan.~~ A simple example is that you can label some paragraphs in a longer HTML file with the class "best-color", and then use CSS to say "anything that has class best-color is going to be lime green". Later, when you decide the best color is actually maroon, you don't have to change every single place that had the lime green -- you can just change the definition of the class, and then everything using that class automatically updates. It's very fancy. [return to text]  
> 6\. There is absolutely a theme to these made-up server names. [return to text]  
> 7\. Citrix portals are, like, you log in through a webpage and it gives you an interface to access specific applications, without your needing to have access to the entire computer that an application runs on. [return to text]  
> 8\. The command line is for people who are too oldschool for graphical interfaces. No mouse, no icons, just typing commands at a prompt, one at a time. [return to text]  
> 9\. "Most of the web apps were very very old and approximately 90% security hole by volume", is how you can translate this if you like. [return to text]  
> 10\. Arrays are fun! Let's say you have an array named foo, and foo has a length of three. That means you can store three things in foo. It's like one of those days-of-the-week pill boxes except I stole Wednesday through Saturday when you weren't looking. Anyway. To put things into the right one of the three boxes, or take them out, you slap a number on the end of the "foo" name. Arrays are generally zero-based, which means that you could store a value in foo[0], a value in foo[1], and a value in foo[2]. [return to text]  
> 11\. Takes a DateTime object (which is what it says on the tin, a specific date and time) and outputs it in basically any format you like as long as you tell it what you actually want. So you could get just the day of the week, or you could get DDMMYY format, YYYYMMDD, whatever. [return to text]  
> 12\. Internet Information Services. One of several thingies you could install on your computer to run a website. [return to text]  
> 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale go from "have had exactly one conversation" to work lunch buddies over a period of several weeks. Crowley would definitely like them to be more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Footnotes exist, now! I also went back and added them to chapter one. I have hopefully hit all the things that might be most confusing to a non-IT person.

_can we talk about this offline, maybe? I don’t really care which ports are opened, I can change that in the app settings, but Solr [1] isn’t going to work if the web server can’t talk to it._

A pause before the reply popped up in his messenger window. _Very well. Would you like to stop by, or should I come to your cube?_

Crowley looked around at the coffee cups he still hadn’t thrown out. _be there in one_

He slid into the systems area as casually as he could manage, open laptop balanced on one shoulder. “Hello, Aziraphale.”

“Yes, hello. Sit down if you like.” Aziraphale gestured to the side chair against the wall, continuing as Crowley dragged it a little closer. “Now, we’ve talked about this. Please don’t make me go through it again; I’m already cross with one of your teammates today, and I don’t want to be cross with you too.”

Crowley nodded like that statement wasn’t making his heart beat a little faster. Obviously Aziraphale just didn’t want to be mad at half the Web Services team at once. It wasn’t that he wanted to stay happy with Crowley specifically.

His curls were very fluffy today. His body spread soft and wide under his cardigan, as he sat back in his desk chair. As he looked at Crowley, waiting for a response.

“Wuh, uh. It’s just. This project was already signed off on by management, right? And the software procurement was approved. You gave enterprise architecture approval yourself, Aziraphale.”

He sighed. “No, I’m aware of that. And it isn’t that I’m trying to be difficult.”

“Nuh, it’s your job, I get it —”

Aziraphale held up a hand. “I have _nightmares_ about the results of the security audit that was done last month. _Literal nightmares_ , Crowley.”

They’d been on actual speaking terms for all of two weeks at this point. Had had maybe a half-dozen conversations since Crowley had started deciding that nope, he didn’t want a fairly decent latte from the cafe downstairs, he wanted half-burnt coffee from the break room where Aziraphale also happened to go for his tea. They weren’t friends. Barely past cordial workplace acquaintances still.

And still he opened his mouth and said “Your brain’s a weird place, Aziraphale. Anyone ever tell you that?”

There was a frozen half-second where he would have slipped right through the floor to the core of the Earth, if he could. The terror of the department, the Dread Fucking Avenging Angel himself, and Crowley had gone and said something like _that_ to him —

Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled. His lips rose in a smile, in a little giggle, which Crowley tried very hard not to think of as adorable. Straight serotonin shot to the brain, that laugh. A drug he could easily get addicted to.

“Insulting me is not the way to get your request granted,” he replied, but he was still smiling. Still a laugh in his delicate voice, a sense that what Crowley had said had maybe actually been exactly the right thing.

Maybe that was what made Crowley open his mouth again.

“How bout bribery? Let me buy you lunch, talk it over in the cafeteria.”

The laugh tapered off into silence. Aziraphale gave him a look like maybe he was trying to figure him out, dig an ulterior motive out from behind the sunglasses. No ulterior motives, of course. Crowley just wanted to spend some time with him. Kind of maybe a lot of time, a bit.

He tried to smile encouragingly.

“Only if they’re not serving that _awful_ spaghetti today.” Aziraphale grimaced. “What they do to innocent pasta should be considered a _crime_.”

* * *

A few days later, Crowley heard a knuckle clatter against the metal frame of his cube. He looked up from stepping through[2] the same damn code for the millionth damn time that morning.

“Have you had lunch yet?” Aziraphale folded his hands in front of his belly. “Only, I’m finally going for mine a bit late, and I thought if perhaps you’d also not gotten to it...”

Fuck, almost one already. Maybe that was why he was so cranky. “Uh. Yeah. I mean, no, I haven’t eaten. I could, uh.”

It meant nothing. The Web Services team sat kind of on the path between Aziraphale’s desk and the elevators. At least, not too far off it. Crowley might’ve just been, been typing really loud, gotten Aziraphale’s attention...

Well, no, he’d been stepping through code. Fine. Maybe he’d been clicking really loud.

“Tag along with you, maybe.” He killed the debug session. “If that’s okay.”

The smile lit up Aziraphale’s face in a way that Crowley’s poor heart definitely did not need. “Splendid. Meet you by the elevators in five minutes?”

Crowley stood up a little faster than he normally would. His chair juddered back but stayed upright. “G-go now if you want. Whenever, really. Just say the word.”

The searching look from the other day came back for a bare instant. “All right, then. After you...?”

* * *

The next time, it was an IM from Crowley to Aziraphale. They’d had a brief conversation around 9:30, just business, about a data service needing restarting. Then he’d fired off the question unprompted shortly before noon. _tuna ched at the sandwich bar today. you in?_

The wait was long enough that he thought he wasn’t going to get an answer. Probably any second now Aziraphale’s status would change from “Available” to “Away 5 minutes” and he’d realize he’d barely missed the guy.

_I ought to show you a proper tuna cheddar melt sometime_ appeared suddenly. _Once you’ve eaten one from Stalzy’s Deli, the ones from the cafeteria simply don’t compare._

Then, more quickly: _The spirit of your offer is appreciated, though. Care to stop by when you’re ready?_

They barely talked work at all that time. Crowley ate his perfectly serviceable sandwich, thank you, and Aziraphale had the roasted chicken. Ate it just as delicately as he seemed to eat everything. Fussy and precise manners that Crowley really needed to not find so ridiculously endearing.

“So I look it up online, and it turns out the damn thing is buckthorn.” Crowley tossed his napkin down on his plate. “Literally illegal to allow to grow. And, and here I am _coddling_ it.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “It sounds as though you have rather a soft spot for your garden.”

“What? No, no, vicious taskmaster, I am. J — me, soft? Don’t be ridiculous.”

He could feel his face getting warm, just a bit. Not exactly from what Aziraphale had said. More from how he’d said it, and how he was looking at Crowley now. There was a little edge to the tone, lightly teasing. 

When Crowley had protested, Aziraphale’s goddamn eyes had started _sparkling_. His stupid infectious smile had widened gleefully. His stupid dimpled hand tapped lightly on the table, now, and his stupid round belly pressed even more interestingly against his stupid sweater as he leaned forward.

“My dear fellow,” he said, in his stupid pretty voice. “If there’s one thing I cannot imagine you being, it’s vicious.”

Crowley’s face warmed even more. “Wuh, th, failure of, of your imagination, then, isn’t it? I’m tough! Real hard-nosed, me! All my plants know I don’t tolerate weakness!”

And goddamn if Aziraphale didn’t fucking rest his adorable double chin in his hand. “Including the one on your desk with the extra lamp over it?”

“...Herbie is a special case,” Crowley muttered.

The look Aziraphale gave him suggested that he wasn’t fooled at all. It was pretty damn smug, actually, and Crowley wanted to be annoyed with it.

Only the little raised eyebrow, the round cheek quirked up by one corner of the lips, was... really attractive. Really, really attractive. Part of Crowley wanted to dig him into this conversation even deeper, just so Aziraphale would keep looking like that.

He took a very spiteful chomp of his sandwich. Chewed busily, and tried to pretend like he didn’t notice Aziraphale’s snort of laughter.

* * *

“Oh, yeah, I ran into that on my VM[3].” Crowley hopped up, strolled around so he could just talk to Greg instead of yelling at him over the cube walls. “Aziraphale had to tweak some kind of setting. Said he wasn’t sure if all the others were affected, but he was going to check later.”

Greg shook his head. “I can’t believe you talk to him willingly. You heard how he almost ripped me and Luis’s heads off on like our third day here, right?”

Crowley thought about Aziraphale’s pretty laughing eyes. About his soft voice as he’d called Crowley _My dear fellow_ earlier that week. That was a new one. Got instant place of honor in Crowley’s thumping little heart.

“Dunno why everyone else has so much trouble with him. Seems all right to me.”

“I think you’re the only one.” Greg spun his chair in a slow circle. “Everyone else thinks he’s some kind of fuckin demon.”

“Angel,” Crowley corrected without thinking.

Greg’s chair stopped moving.

“A-avenging Angel of the Network. Because, um. You touch his servers, he smites you. Get it?”

“Nice! Yeah, that’s exactly it. Go up against him and get smote. Smited. Smitten.” Then Greg shook his head again. “Except for you, apparently.”

Nope. Crowley had definitely been smitten, all right. “You just gotta, I dunno, talk to him. And maybe not get too handsy with his servers.”

* * *

Crowley started the new job in February, and was smoted by the Avenging Angel in early March. By mid-April, they were going to lunch together every day they both had free.

The rest of the IT department seemed torn between mild fear of Crowley through association, or just an assumption that he was not long for this world.

Crowley would throw in with the second group if he had to pick. Although not for the same reason as everyone else.

“Frankly, I’m still shocked I didn’t find anything held together with literal chewing gum.” Aziraphale took a delicate bite of his salmon, rolling it around in his mouth and closing his eyes for a second. “Do you know, the legacy database was crashing every single month? For over a year!”

Crowley bit back a grin. “Yep, I know.”

“And recovering itself from cache!”[4]

“Uh huh.”

“Which is of course _completely unsustainable_ , I’m not sure how the memory leak didn’t force a reboot while my predecessor was still here —”

“Demonic miracle, maybe.”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale seemed to have noticed, finally, that his audience was acting less than sympathetic. He set his fork down, very deliberately, folding his hands on the table. “My _dear_ fellow. I do feel you aren’t taking this seriously.”

Crowley couldn’t fight the grin now. “I was _there_ , remember? So the data replication thingy[5] was fucked, and none of the backups had actually —”

“None of the backups had actually _functioned_ since before this end-of-month nonsense had _started_!” Aziraphale moaned the words into his hands, but Crowley had enough experience by now with that particular form of communication that he could follow along okay.

“You worked it out.” He let himself smile fondly. “Clever.”

Aziraphale huffed and dropped his hands. “It wasn’t all that clever.”

He looked pleased, though. There was an extra little sparkle in his eyes as he flicked them toward Crowley, down at the table, back toward Crowley again.

Not long at all for this world if Aziraphale kept doing things like that, no. Crowley’s heart would probably pitter-patter right out his heaving chest.

Aziraphale picked up his fork again, delicately catching another bit of salmon on the tines. “Anyway. Since apparently you don’t feel like discussing work...”

He lifted the fork to his mouth, then paused, letting it hover there, while he looked at Crowley. “Then _you_ can pick a conversational topic.”

The salmon disappeared between soft-looking lips. Aziraphale closed his eyes again, this time even adding a little hum of delight, a little tipping-back of his head. A tiny smile that all but unzipped Crowley’s entire fucking soul to splatter onto the table between them.

“Uhh,” Crowley suggested. His hand twitched on the table. Be so easy to reach across the table and take Aziraphale’s. Maybe stroke the back of it. Easy as anything, to hold his hand and gaze into his eyes and say _Hey, here’s a topic for conversation, I think you’re mind-bendingly gorgeous. What would you say to letting me climb over there and just hold you for an hour or three?_

But you didn’t just say a thing like that to your mind-bendingly gorgeous coworker and friend. Even if sometimes it really felt like he was flirting with you.

“You, uh.” Crowley pushed things around his tray a little: the plate his burger had been on, the smaller plate that still held a slice of cake. “You ever been to Nile?”

Aziraphale’s eyebrow tilted skyward. “I presume you don’t mean the actual river.”

“Wh — no, I don’t mean the river.” He would’ve just given Aziraphale a nice level stare for that, let him feel the judgement even through the sunglasses, except Aziraphale was giving him one of those bastardy little grins and it was too adorable to survive this soon after the salmon-eating thing. “The, the restaurant. On Odana. Been there? I haven’t yet.”

“I have a number of times! They serve the most splendid lentil soup.” Aziraphale smiled off into the distance, the remains of his current lunch forgotten. “And a delicious baked pasta stuffed with spinach and cheese, positively drowning in bechamel, you really should try it sometime.”

Aziraphale’s hand settled on his belly, as though the contact helped him remember all those tasty past visits. Crowley tried not to stare. It was another sweater vest today, lovingly clinging to all Aziraphale’s very attractive roundedness, and the hand just made things worse. “And their baklava is — well, admittedly, not the best I’ve ever eaten. But it’s still a lovely end to a meal there.”

Crowley wondered whether he could just build Aziraphale a house made of baklava and baked pasta things. Surround him with anything that made him look that happy just at the memory. Sit and watch him enjoy it forever. That was reasonable, right? That wasn’t weird or anything.

“Oh,” he said. “Sounds — yeah. Go there sometime, maybe. If I get the chance.”

Aziraphale didn’t answer right away. He moved the hand from his belly, picking up his water glass, eyes watchful above it as he took a sip.

“Well. What would you say to tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.” Crowley blinked. “Uhh...”

“It’s actually a very short drive from the office, if one cuts through the research park.” Aziraphale spun his glass on the table. “Not more than two or three minutes. Perfect for a lunchtime destination.”

Crowley nodded. Then his brain caught up. “For a — right. Tomorrow. Yes.” He really hoped the sunglasses were doing their job, because right now his eyes felt about wide enough to fall out of his skull. 

“Assuming you’re not... otherwise busy, of course...”

“God no,” Crowley blurted, desperate to knock the hesitation loose from Aziraphale’s voice, the sudden lack of confidence which he wasn’t sure he’d ever heard from him before. Then he realized that the answer made him _sound_ desperate, and he started fumbling for a way to smooth that over, because at the very least he had to keep _working_ with the guy —

Except then Aziraphale smiled at him, bright and shining and completely unfairly beautiful, and he figured maybe he hadn’t come off so desperate after all. “Oh, good. You’ll just love it, I’m sure. And it will —”

He cut off suddenly, and his pretty blueish eyes actually flicked away for a moment, down to the table. It was barely even an instant, though. Then he was looking at Crowley again, eyes steady, voice even. “It will be nice to spend some time outside the office, I think.”

Crowley forced himself to nod very slowly and calmly. “Y-yeah,” he said. “Nice.”

He looked at the slice of cake on his tray. “Don’t know why I bought this,” he said, even though he actually had a pretty good idea. “Want it?”

The cake got another sweet little hum. Which really wasn’t fair to Crowley at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Solr is one of several ways to index the stuff on your website so end users can search for it, or so you can serve up fancy dynamic content. [return to text]  
> 2\. Kind of like putting a big ol pause button on the execution of code. You can make it wait after each line is executed, allowing you to see whether a variable gets set to something weird, or work out exactly which line is generating an error, or whatever. Ridiculously useful debugging tool and I love it.[return to text]  
> 3\. Virtual machine. There's a footnote on chapter 1 explaining this, now! [return to text]  
> 4\. Cache is supposed to be temporary memory, basically a convenience so your program can just snag already-looked-up data and run with it, instead of having to go look it up again. If you are regularly recovering the entirety of something from cache, and not actually writing it to more stable memory, then you are probably doing something very very wrong. [return to text]  
> 5\. I don't know what this is either. Something to do with MySQL (which is a kind of database server). [return to text]


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lunchtime! Let's go to Nile. Wh — no, I don’t mean the river.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-level warning notes:** The word "fat" is used as a neutral-to-positive descriptor. Reference to potential fatphobic commentary. Totally made-up and probably inaccurate stuff about how much you can aftermarket-modify a left-hand-drive antique Bentley of undisclosed year.

Crowley drove them to lunch.

Aziraphale had a car, apparently, but he barely used it — “I’m just not a driving sort of person,” he’d said. “Still, needs must when it’s forty below out.” He was more than happy to follow Crowley through the parking ramp to the Bentley.

“Oh,” he said as Crowley stopped by her door. “How lovely! An antique, yes? I didn’t realize you were into cars.”

“Not really. Don’t know a damn bit about her except to drive her.” He unlocked his own door, then opened it to hit the button that would get Aziraphale’s. “But I know a good mechanic. And the last owner put in all the important aftermarket stuff, which makes things easier. Working heater, very nice in Wisconsin.”

He waited for Aziraphale to walk around to the passenger side, but instead he eyed her with a somewhat more cautious expression. “And the seatbelts?”

“Yeah, she’s got belts.” That still didn’t seem to help. Then Crowley remembered Vanessa, her pretty fat arms and her equally pretty fat everything else. She’d been smaller than Aziraphale, but she’d still refused to ride in the Bentley for the first couple months she and Crowley had dated. Too shy and ashamed to admit at first that it was because she was afraid of not fitting. Which had made Crowley so angry for her, that she’d ever had to see it as being something wrong with _her_...

Aziraphale wasn’t shy, though, and he didn’t seem ashamed. “If they aren’t long enough, I’m afraid I won’t be able to ride. Bit of a problem with some vehicles, especially older ones.”

“Yeah. I, uh — my — someone I knew kind of tested it before, but she wasn’t as...”

His face went hot. Dammit, it was such a simple word, but he couldn’t just say it... what if Aziraphale took it as an _insult_...

Those eyes of his were twinkling now, though, a little grin mostly failing to keep away from his soft lips. “Yes? Let’s do be honest, my dear fellow, it makes for far better relationships.”

“Fat,” Crowley blurted, because _relationships_ , what the fuck did Aziraphale mean, mentioning _relationships_ — “She wasn’t as fat as you are. Didn’t have any trouble, though. You could, could give it a try.”

Aziraphale gave him a look. Still with that little grin lingering, the one that made Crowley want to call him out for being purposefully adorable. Crowley didn’t know what the look meant, but he knew how it made him feel, and that was... sort of fluttery. It made his face go warm all over again.

“I believe I shall,” the Avenging Angel of the Network said, sounding very pleased with himself. 

Crowley kept standing awkwardly by the open driver’s door. He watched Aziraphale step primly around the car, open the door, and get in. The seatbelts in front were modern three-point ones, really there was barely anything antique left of the Bentley except her chassis and some of the interior, so it ought to fit him. It should. It had _better_.

Aziraphale pulled out the belt. Around his belly, and around, and around...

A click. “Oh, good,” Aziraphale said, and then he actually wiggled in the seat, a little motion that started in his shoulders but didn’t stay there. “I would have been awfully disappointed if it had been too small.”

Crowley nodded vaguely. Disappointing. Yeah. Very good that it fit, the belt snug against the front of his cardigan, and the cardigan snug against the front of his _him_ , why the _hell_ was he so nice and fat and gorgeous, where the hell did he get the _nerve_ —

“Crowley.”

Bloody teenager he was. Show him a beautiful human, he was all set to get his arms around whatever kind of body they had and just snuggle with them forever. Staring meanwhile, thinking about how nice it would be, how incredibly soft Aziraphale would be in his arms —

“ _Crowley_.”

“Uh?”

It would’ve made sense for Aziraphale to be annoyed with him. Maybe even angry, being stared at like that. Instead, he was almost smirking, one eyebrow raised. Somehow that was worse.

“Thought of something more interesting than lunch?”

Crowley was almost positive Aziraphale was flirting with him. And he had _no_ idea what to do about it.

“Uh,” he replied. “N — no. Lunch. Get you that, what, soup? Soup.” He tried not to flop too clumsily into his own seat, managed his own belt on the third try. “Or whatever. Order whatever. Anything you want, obviously.”

Aziraphale didn’t save him, the bastard. Just let him keep babbling, an evil gleam in his eye.

“I, uh. Through the research park? So, so left at the, um...”

“Left at the signal, yes.”

He didn’t wreck them, at least. Aziraphale was practically radiating waves of smug amusement, and it had to be at his awkwardness, and dammit, why did he have to have such round hands, didn’t he know how badly Crowley wanted to hold one of them —

“Here we are, then!”

Aziraphale bounced out of the car as soon as Crowley had the engine off. The bastardy edge had gone from his smile, and what was left showed only delight. At getting to enjoy one of his favorite restaurants, that was probably it, of course. Aziraphale was a man who enjoyed his food, and dammit, Crowley would punch anyone who would even think of saying that as a crack about his weight, because it was obvious just from the way he acted — you could see it in the enthusiastic way he talked about it, the careful way he selected it. You could watch, hardly daring to breathe, to see how he smiled whenever he took his first bite of something tasty. How he savored everything, refusing to ever do something so common as bolt down a quick sandwich while at his desk.

Find a skinny guy with the same attitude, people’d call him a foodie. Probably have some goddamn pretentious aesthetic blog on the topic.

The imaginary skinny guy wasn’t here, though, and good. Crowley would rather have Aziraphale anyway. So happy to be here, happy to get to eat his soup and his baklava and whatever else, but maybe also happy for Crowley’s company, too. Just possibly.

He hurried up the sidewalk to meet Aziraphale at the door, and followed him into the relative dimness of the restaurant. Someone called out a greeting, which Aziraphale answered in —

“The hell? You know, what is that, Egyptian?”

“Arabic.” Aziraphale was leading the way to a table near the wall, not waiting to be approached by restaurant staff. “And not really, I’m afraid; I’m mostly a monoglot. Just a few words and phrases in a few other languages.”

“Oh, is that all,” Crowley muttered as they sat down. “Just a _little_ bit of Arabic, fine then.”

“Arabic, PowerShell[1].” Aziraphale smoothed a wrinkle out of his cardigan, pushing it carefully across the span of his belly. "I try to know a little about everything, really.”

“S-sure.”

The server came by with a couple of menus, although Aziraphale barely glanced at his. He ordered a pot of tea and couscous for both of them.

“The hummus is delicious, but almost every entree comes with it,” Aziraphale said conspiratorially. “Ordering it as an appetizer is actually terribly inefficient.”[2]

“I dunno. Maybe I want lots of hummus. Just, mountains of hummus.” Crowley waved a hand in the air. “Piled to the sky. Entire forest of chickpea trees, felled for the cause.”

Aziraphale giggled.

“W-what?” He hadn’t been expecting the giggle — Aziraphale needed to warn him first before deploying it like that —

“I’m picturing the reaction to that order. ‘All the hummus you have, please, my good man. Yes, I will take it in a wheelbarrow.’”

“All right, fine, so judgemental.” Crowley pretended to glare at his menu. “Guess I _won’t_ order Mount Hummus. Get something boring like, like gyros instead.”

Aziraphale shook his head, still smiling. “Order whatever you like. I shall refrain from passing judgement just this once.”

Crowley did get the gyro platter, maybe a little out of spite, but also because he liked gyros. Aziraphale ordered the baked cheese thing he’d mentioned the day before.[3] They sipped their tea — it’d been billed as Earl Grey, and Crowley couldn’t taste even a hint of bergamot, but it was good all the same — and Aziraphale worked on the pita and couscous while Crowley mostly watched.

The first torn-off scrap of pita, popped neatly into Aziraphale’s mouth, got a closed-eyed smile of pleasure. No tilted head, no hum. Probably for the best, since Crowley still had the rest of their meal to get through.

“So, Arabic, huh?” Which only got him a polite little eyebrow-raise, as if Aziraphale was saying _Yes, and your point?_ , so Crowley fumbled for more — “And, and other languages you said, too. Still pretty impressive even if it’s only, uh. Words and phrases.”

Aziraphale’s eyes crinkled at him. “All the important basics. Hello, please, thank you, I’m sorry.” The crinkle turned into a sparkle. “T’es terriblement beau.”[4]

“Huh?”

“Bit out of practice at the French.” He slipped delicately at his tea, not quite losing his smile as he did so. “Still, I’ve picked up a bit of that, Italian, Polish, Japanese...”

“Fucking hell, you’re amazing.”

And oh, sure, just go and say something like that. Granted, Aziraphale only ever looked pleased when Crowley put his heart in his mouth like that, or amused, or occasionally smug. Didn’t make it any less embarrassing.

“Thank you.” Pleased, this time. “I’m glad you seem to enjoy my company as much as I enjoy yours.”

Crowley rolled his eyes behind his glasses, waving a hand. “Oh. Well. You’re, er, all right, I suppose. Kind of a bastard, though, not gonna lie.”

Pleased had traded out for smug. “Not going to complain, either, I notice.”

Crowley mumbled something non-incriminating.

“Are you going to use your honey? I seem to have gone through mine already...”

He flipped the packet across the table, then watched Aziraphale stir it into a fresh cup of tea. Fussy little motions, chubby hands so graceful as he worked. He should just grow up and ask Aziraphale on a date already. What was the worst that could happen?

_Oh, er. That’s very nice, but I’m seeing someone already._ Or maybe _I’m afraid you’re not my type, I only date people as gorgeously fat as I am_. The smart money wasn’t really on _I’m straight_ , but it wasn’t totally impossible either.

The problem was what would follow after, if he turned Crowley down. The having to work with him, only then it would be all awkward. The wanting to eat lunch with him and finding his pretty eyes flat and rejecting. The losing what had become one of the closest friendships Crowley had made in way longer than he wanted to admit.

Across the table, pretty eyes lit up as a cup of soup was slid in front of each of them. Pretty lips formed something that sounded like “Shukran lak”.[5] Crowley wondered what the Arabic was for “I really want to hug you”. 

“Please,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley startled in his chair before realizing Aziraphale was gesturing to the soup. “Do try a taste. If it’s not to your liking, I’d be happy to switch with you.”

“Eh. Be fine.” He took a careful sip. Hot, but tasty. Thick lentil soup with a dusting of nutmeg. “Good, actually. Thanks for the suggestion.”

Aziraphale already had his own spoon halfway to his mouth. “You’re very welcome.”

Funny, how quickly Crowley had gotten into this little hobby of cataloguing Aziraphale’s responses to food. The soup got a smile, a pleased, almost surprised little hum. “Guess you like yours.”

“Oh yes. A nice dash of lemon today, which brings out the rest of the flavors very nicely.” Aziraphale tapped his finger against the handle of his spoon, but didn’t seem inclined to pick it up again yet. A tiny smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth. “I suppose I’m not particularly subtle about what I _like_ , hmm?”

His eyes flicked away, then back to Crowley’s face again. Then off into the distance, as he took one very dainty taste of his soup.

Okay, that was flirting. That had to be flirting. And Crowley wasn’t blushing; his entire fucking face was just on fire, that was all. Perfectly reasonable.

“Hrnfg,” he replied, and took a huge gulp of tea.

Aziraphale maybe took pity on him, because he changed the subject to something a little less... personal. Eventually they wound up talking about gardening. It still wasn’t really spring even in the middle of April, because Wisconsin, but Crowley was still looking forward to the same local plant sale he’d promised himself he wouldn’t drop too much money on for the last four years running.[6]

“...but since my place is kind of, of out there a little bit, I don’t really have to worry. Neighbor on that side mows his back acre once a month and calls it good.” Their mains had arrived while he was talking, Aziraphale laughing along to the tale of That Prairie Rose He Really Shouldn’t Have Planted There.[7] “I mean, it’s, y’know, slowly turning that entire corner of the property into a 50s sci-fi/horror movie as it spreads beneath the earth like an implacable wave of _doom_ , but I should be ready by the time it advances on the house. I own a flamethrower.”

“You _don’t_ ,” Aziraphale gasped.

Crowley rubbed the back of his neck. “It might be more a glorified one of those kitchen torch things.”

There was that giggle again. “If your dastardly vines attack, you could always drive them off with a nice creme brulee.”

“Oh, you laugh now.” Crowley eyeballed his food, and decided he really couldn’t eat any more. Whole entire slab of gyro meat he hadn’t even touched. Shame, really, he thought, as he pushed the plate away. It was good. Aziraphale would probably have enjoyed it. “But soon enough I’ll meet my end. Just swallowed up by thorny monsters one night. No one’ll ever see me again.”

“Hmm.”

“Just put up a memorial, ‘Here possibly lies Crowley, killed by the one goddamn thing he really, _really_ got to grow...’”

He paused, tilting his head at Aziraphale, who’d gone dark on him, a bit. He was still looking at Crowley, still seemed to be following along, but one of his eyebrows was raised. His eyes flicked down, then back up at Crowley. Then they took on a hard little glint beneath a furrowed brow. Not his usual good-natured sparkle at all.

“Unlike your roses,” he said, “I am not interested in consuming everything in my path. Do you take my meaning?”

Crowley blinked before realizing what he’d done. Pushed his half-empty plate away, yep... and right across the table to sit in front of Aziraphale. Hadn’t even realized it. Just an offering to the Avenging Angel, more food for his endless delight, but Crowley hadn’t meant to imply anything. Kind of weird of him to have done it, though. At least with the cake yesterday it hadn’t been, been bloody half-eaten. And at least he’d _asked_ , then.

“No?” he hazarded.

Aziraphale sat back, lacing his hands over his belly. “I hold honesty to be extremely important, Crowley. I do not appreciate ulterior motives. And if you do have any... _proclivities_ which you are attempting to indulge here... this would be a very good time to inform me.”

Right. Fucked up big time, then. Not that Aziraphale looked mad at him, not quite — but he looked ready to _be_ mad if Crowley answered wrong. Too bad for Crowley that he still didn’t quite understand the question, then.

“Look, I’m not —” He hunched over the table, wishing he could just fall right through it, through the floor, start a new life in the bedrock somewhere. “I’m not, like, trying to _microaggress_ or something, if that’s — that’s what it looks like.” 

The thoughtful-looking forehead was smoothing out a little. Less of that hard expression in the eyes.

“I’m not gonna eat the thing. You would —” No, dammit, he was _not_ going to blush. “You would, would maybe enjoy the thing. So you should have the thing. If you want it.” He shrugged. “Like the cake yesterday.”

“I did notice that,” Aziraphale replied softly.

“‘M sorry. Didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” Crowley remembered the conversation outside the Bentley. Aziraphale had mentioned honesty then too. And he’d smiled, like Crowley had passed some kind of test by calling him —

“Not ‘cause you’re fat.” He tried again with a few more words thrown in. “Not doing it because you’re fat. Just... maybe it’d make you happy.” He mumbled the rest to the table. “I like making you happy.”

Silence for a few seconds. Crowley kept looking at the table, because he wasn’t going to have to drive _it_ back to the office in terrible silence after this whole mess.

Aziraphale pushed the plate to the edge of the table. “I am not in the mood for this, I don’t think.”

Crowley flinched.

“Ah.” Aziraphale’s voice sounded almost startled. “I meant the _food_. The sentiment is very much appreciated, Crowley, I —”

A round hand appeared, very suddenly, in Crowley’s vision. It rested against one of his arms, crossed on the table, for two entire seconds before retreating. Crowley counted.

“One makes certain assumptions based on one’s experiences. In this case, I’m glad to have been wrong. I would have been so disappointed to have to stop spending time with you.”

Crowley risked a look up. “Y-yeah?”

There wasn’t a hint of smirk on Aziraphale’s face, no bastard grin, no evil gleam in his eye. “Of course. I thought I wasn’t very subtle about whom I liked.”

Crowley’s brain slowly unspooled around his feet. Okay. Okay, that was absolutely, one hundred percent, undeniable flirting. Had to be. Aziraphale was clever, fucking brilliant, really, and he couldn’t possibly have done that any way but on purpose. Which — which didn’t mean he meant _like_ -like, people flirted all the time without it secretly meaning _I want to hold you and kiss you all over your stupid pretty face_. But. But possibly he did mean that.

Answering. Right. That would be a good thing to do here.

“‘S good. ‘S fine. Subtle’s overrated.”

_I want to hold you around your stupid incredible belly and gaze into your stupid sparkling eyes and kiss you right on your stupid brilliant mouth. I like-like you, you stupid beautiful fat angel bastard._

“D’you, uh.” Crowley tried to think of anything even the least bit neutral. “Baklava?”

Aziraphale laughed, sounding like it was as surprising to him as it was life-sustaining to Crowley. “I believe I _am_ in the mood for that.”

The baklava was pretty good. The sight of Aziraphale enjoying it was better. Crowley had maybe a quarter of it, and the rest slipped one neat bite at a time through Aziraphale’s heart-stopping smile.

Aziraphale paid for everything. “You can pick up the check next time,” he said breezily. Then his eyes flicked to Crowley, away, back again. The corner of his mouth tipped up.

“N-next time,” Crowley said. “Okay. Yes. Yep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. PowerShell is sort of like baby programming that you can execute at the command line, or set up to run on a scheduled basis. I'm probably being disrespectful by calling it "baby programming". You just can't use it to, like, write a video game in, or develop electronic medical record software, or things like that.[return to text]  
> 2\. This is true at real-life Nile, and yet we forget and order hummus _every single goddamned time we go there._ [return to text]  
> 3\. I get the Egyptian Canneloni pretty much every time we go to Nile. I just looked the description up on the online menu, and... really? Really, self? " **Crepe** filled with sautéed spinach, onions and feta cheese, baked in a light tomato sauce and covered with a cheesy béchamel sauce." (emphasis mine) _Why am I such an Aziraphale._ (I'm pretty sure it's actually pasta and that pasta isn't a crepe, but whatever. I'm not enough of an Aziraphale to actually know things about food other than that it's nice and some of it you dip in soy sauce.) [return to text]  
> 4\. French for "You're terribly handsome", more or less. [return to text]  
> 5\. Arabic for "Thank you", more or less. [return to text]  
> 6\. Dear Friends Of The Arboretum annual plant sale, why do you hate my wallet? [return to text]  
> 7\. Prairie roses spread by rhizomes, aka "creeping underground tendrils of doom". I really should've noticed that before I planted two of the things. [return to text]


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lunch is interrupted by actual work. Crowley flirts with Aziraphale. _Twice_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-level warning notes:** The word "fat" is used as a neutral-to-positive descriptor. The author tries to write about a fictionalized version of his workplace's colo site as if he has ever actually been there or even been to one at all (he has not).

Next time was later that week. Crowley paid for them both to have extremely good pho at the Vietnamese restaurant some guy had run his car through a couple years back.[1] After that was Stalzy’s Deli, previously named by Aziraphale as the only place in town to get a tuna cheddar melt, and Crowley did have to agree that it kind of put the one at the cafeteria to shame.

Stuff just tasted better when it was Aziraphale-curated, was the thing. When Aziraphale liked it. When he was there.

When he flirted with Crowley, and Crowley instantly turned into a stammering idiot, instead of just being able to cut to the chase with something like _Look, I think you’re gorgeous, you seem to think I’m all right, want to be my boyfriend? You’ll never get in my pants, but I’ve been told I give **extremely** nice snuggles_.

Nothing like that for Crowley, no. Instead, Aziraphale would say something like “Oh, is that a new shirt? It _does_ look nice on you”, with that little eye flicker and everything; and all Crowley would be able to scrape up would be a muttered “T-thanks”.

And Aziraphale grinned at that, of course, because he was a bastard. Took another delicate bite of his lunch, chewed and swallowed with obvious pleasure. “Now, personally, I wouldn’t _wear_ all that black silk —” no, of course not, him and his waistcoat and bow tie today, yet another blue button-down, he was a goddamn frumpy old professor and Crowley loved it — “but it fits your aesthetic.” Another little once-over with his eyes. “Very dashing.”

Crowley mumbled into his beer.

“So! Any exciting plans for the weekend?”

Perfectly innocent question, really. The type of thing friends asked each other all the time. Even if the friend asking was a shameless flirt and incredibly attractive and smiling across the table, now, gray-blue eyes fixed on Crowley’s sunglasses.

“Not doing anything, really. Gaming’s cancelled this week. Ellie and Max’re out of town.”

“Ah.”

Aziraphale’s gentle mouth closed. Opened again. He leaned forward, hand on the table sliding closer, and Crowley’s lungs decided to go on break. The pretty gray-blue eyes had gone soft, now. Soft and wanting. Crowley thought maybe he knew what they wanted. Thought maybe he’d be very, very glad to give it to them.

Aziraphale got as far as the first sound, an open sort of “wuh” sound, and then he started beeping.

His face creased in a frown. “Oh, for heaven’s...”

Crowley watched numbly. _Would you like to go out this weekend_ danced through his imagination, and _We should really just start dating already_ , and _Why not come over here and let me hold you against my gorgeous fat body_. But Aziraphale didn’t say any of it. Instead he pulled a pager out of his pocket.

“The servers have gone offline over at the colo site.” He glowered at the display. “All of them. How in damnation that happened, I’m sure I don’t —”

His cellphone went off. “I’m so sorry, my dear. Please excuse me.”

Crowley barely managed a nod, which Aziraphale didn’t even seem to notice before he was picking up and speaking in quiet tones with his caller. His boss, maybe, from the sound of it. Or maybe the veep of the department herself.

 _My dear_. Right, that was a new one. They’d been hanging out together a month and a half now, and Crowley had _never_ been _my dear_.

“I just got the notification, yes. I’m at lunch right now, but I can be back at the office in ten minutes, and then drive to the data center from there...”

Crowley waved a hand to get his attention. _I’ll drive you_ , he mouthed.

“Ah, please excuse me a moment.” Aziraphale muted his phone. “It’s out past the airport. Rather a long way, and I’m sure you have better things to do than chauffeur me about town.”

“Nothing better.”

The response slipped out on its own, and Crowley didn’t even realize it until he noticed Aziraphale’s frown lifting just a little. The tender mouth curved in a tiny smile, the eyes softened again, and —

“I mean, wh. Everything’ll be down. Nothing I can do right now anyway, work-wise. Even the. The VMs are hosted at colo.” His face was only a little warm. It was fine. “So. Might as well. Yeah?”

Aziraphale unmuted his phone. “I can actually go straight there from here. Yes. I will, yes. Goodbye.”

His eyes refused to lose that soft look after he hung up. “Thank you. I realize it’s an inconvenience, but — well.”

His hand slid across the table again, stopping just short of Crowley’s.

“I think I understand.” Just a hint of mischief came into his smile. “At least, I rather hope I do.”

“Uh,” Crowley said.

“At least we were almost ready for the check anyway. My turn to pay, wasn’t it...?”

Aziraphale turned to wave their server down, which gave Crowley a chance to recover whatever passed for his wits. He’d just offered to spend some unknown chunk of the afternoon with Aziraphale, and Aziraphale had agreed with barely any tempting at all. Which didn’t mean anything. Aziraphale was going to be working on his precious servers, and would probably remove Crowley’s head from his shoulders if Crowley got too close to any of ‘em.

Still. It was more time with the Avenging Angel. And if he looked at Crowley with those gentle eyes again, well — it’d be worth driving all the way to Milwaukee.

* * *

“Oh good Lord.”

The problem at the colocated data site was pretty obvious, really. Even a mere code monkey like Crowley could figure it out.

Alarms were blaring everywhere until Aziraphale hit something on a wall to shut most of them off. It was about forty degrees[2], there were angry little warning lights everywhere, and, aside from the remaining alarms somewhere down the line of racks, it was very, very quiet.

“Shouldn’t, um.” Crowley trailed behind Aziraphale, resisting the urge to thump a finger against a random machine. “Shouldn’t some of these be, uh, on?”

“I should say so,” Aziraphale huffed. “The climate control must have failed an hour ago. Why there wasn’t an alert right away, I’m sure I don’t know.”

They stopped at a random-seeming spot midway down one of the rows. Aziraphale poked at the rack, doing something which presumably made perfect sense to him, but which was all a mystery to Crowley. He didn’t swear as he worked, but he muttered a number of things which made him sound like he wanted to.

“Everything’s overheated and shut down, blast it all. I’m terribly sorry to have dragged you out here, Crowley, there’s absolutely nothing to be done just now. Not until they get the air conditioning back on at the very least.”

Crowley opened his mouth, about to say that it was fine, it wasn’t a big deal. But then Aziraphale started undressing, which made thinking far enough ahead to speak words basically impossible.

“Appalling heat,” he said, unbuttoning one of his cuffs. Rolling the sleeve up to reveal not just forearm but _elbow_ , then switching to do the same with the other one. As if it was perfectly reasonable. As if Crowley wasn’t feeling his brain melt down like the servers, looking at those nice wide arms, imagining them going around his own waist and pulling him very very close...

“We should probably get you out of here, to be honest. It wouldn’t do to ruin your nice new shirt.”

Crowley glanced down at his nice new shirt. Yeah. Yeah, probably he shouldn’t sweat all over it, that would ruin the shirt and also be not at all a good look in front of Aziraphale.

Who was looking at him now, one eyebrow raised. “Goodness. The temperature hasn’t gotten to you _this_ quickly, has it?”

“‘M okay with that.” Crowley went for it. Was the forearms’ fault. “Just didn’t expect a show, is all. Might need to sit down.”

Maybe it wasn’t too late to blame his burning face on the heat.

Aziraphale actually looked taken aback for the first terrifying half-second, but then he smiled so fondly that Crowley actually did wonder whether he’d need to sit down. Made him sort of woozy, it did. “Mr Crowley. Do you think that’s really a workplace-appropriate statement?”

Stumbling forward a half-step seemed like a better option than falling over. “Not my workplace. Technically.”

“Hmm.” Blue-gray eyes smiled into his. “That’s true. I suppose you’re still somewhat off the clock, as it were.”

“Yeah.” Crowley swallowed. “Although. It is, uh. It is kind of hot in here. I should maybe, uh.”

He stumbled forward again, not into Aziraphale’s arms like he wanted, but past him. A soft, fat, perfect hand touched his shoulder as he went by.

“Will you be all right, my dear? I can catch another ride back to the office when I’m done, if you need to leave now.”

Again, he’d gone and said it again... “Nngh. Fine. Gonna sit in the car.”

The air was fresh and cool outside, early May in Wisconsin with its long-dreamed-of taste of spring, and there was no Aziraphale to short-circuit his brain. After five minutes Crowley was back to normal, sprawled half in and half out of the open car door, checking email on his phone. He only looked up briefly when the AC units outside the building kicked on with a roar.

He had flirted with Aziraphale. Straight-up, cheesy, obvious flirting. And Aziraphale had been... surprised, at first, like he really hadn’t expected it. But then he’d served it right back.

No reason for him not to expect it. He’d been flirting with Crowley for weeks. Really ought to be ready for some of his own medicine by this point. And what he’d said when Crowley had invited himself along on this little jaunt — _I think I understand. At least, I rather hope I do_ — what he’d understood was that Crowley was completely, utterly lost for him, right? Shouldn’t he expect a little romantic nonsense, given that?

Unless Crowley was also completely, utterly misinterpreting everything, and Aziraphale had no idea that any of this was going through his head.

Surely Crowley couldn’t be _that_ inept. He was a thirty-nine-year-old adult with a half-dozen past relationships. There was no reason for this to be so difficult.

He supposed he had a few options just now. One: go back into the building, find Aziraphale, and very politely ask to be allowed to hold him forever.

Two: wait for Aziraphale to finish up and come out again. Then the asking and, ideally, the holding.

Three: do nothing. Let Aziraphale make the next move.

Three sounded good. Safe bet, three. Because technically, he still didn’t know that Aziraphale meant like-like.

“Bloody teenager,” he muttered to himself. Switching apps and reblogging a photoset of some very cute ducklings with unusual vigor. See? No lovestruck nonsense at all here. A photo of someone’s amazing watercolor tattoo, reblog that too. Sure. Lots of pretty things in the world that weren’t Aziraphale.

Eventually, he heard the door to the data center open. Footsteps crunched across the parking lot to him, followed by a settling creak as a soft arm rested on top of the Bentley’s open door. “Are you feeling better?”

Crowley looked up. Pretty Avenging Angel Aziraphale. Still with the rolled-up sleeves, and now his bow tie was undone, too. The top button of his shirt lay scandalously open. Out in public and _everything_.

“Thought I was,” he heard himself say from a distance of approximately four light-years. “Then you go and come out dressed like _that_.”

Aziraphale’s mouth curved up into the sweetest smile Crowley had ever seen in his entire ridiculous life.

Then he smirked, laugh lines crinkling gorgeously, and buttoned his collar back up.

“There. I’d hate for us to suffer an accident on the way back to the office due to... distracted driving.”

Aziraphale turned away, walking around to the other side of the car, leaving Crowley to pray for his own swift, spontaneously-combusted death.

He didn’t die. Got them back safe to the office, and in record time, too. Aziraphale fixed his sleeves and bow tie as they went, chattering about mundane things, covering the silence. Although when they got off the elevator on the second floor, he stepped close enough to put his hand on Crowley’s forearm and leave it there.

“Thank you for the ride and the company, Crowley. And for...”

Crowley didn’t even dare breathe. Just stared, behind the sunglasses, as Aziraphale beamed at him. As the hand on his arm trailed down, just a little bit, before Aziraphale stepped away again.

“Well. For being willing to come along with me, at least a bit.” His round cheeks dimpled. “I’m not referring to the ride.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, which was good, because Crowley would have been incapable of coming up with one. Just turned and carded his way into the break room and left Crowley standing in a puddle of his own engooified heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. [No, really.](https://madison.com/wsj/news/local/crime/car-crashes-into-williamson-street-restaurant-causing-partial-collapse-of/article_25ed211a-6ec8-5e7a-bc21-d840bb25ff27.html) [return to text]  
> 2\. 104 in Fahrenheit. Though Crowley might be exaggerating. [return to text]  
> 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has to spend most of a week barely seeing Aziraphale at all, although he does get his number for purposes of ~~embarrassing himself via a different medium~~ texting. Also: ducks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-level warning notes:** The word "fat" is used as a neutral-to-positive descriptor.
> 
> Also, really ridiculous flirting. I'm sorry but also not sorry at all.
> 
> Housekeeping note: I am (again, still) eons behind on replying to everyone's lovely comments. I am not just ignoring you! I am ignoring everyone. But I will hopefully make some progress toward addressing that over the three-day weekend I'm about to have.

“I’m sorry, you actually have the wrong company. We don’t issue credit cards —”

Ramona went silent for a few seconds.

“Yes, I’m sure you’re used to logging into the website to access your account, but it isn’t our websi —”

Another silence.

“I’m afraid I can’t reset your password, because you’ve reached the wrong company.”

A beat.

“I’m certain we don’t provide credit cards.”

Beat.

“Yes, I’m very certain.”

What might have been a carefully stifled sigh. “Of course. You’re welcome to switch to a different issuer, only —”

A sigh that wasn’t stifled at all, and then the sound of a phone handset racking back into place.

Crowley picked out a sympathetic-looking kitten from his collection of cute animal image macros and IMed it to her. _Sorry things aren’t so pawsome_ , the Impact-font text read.

A wan little chuckle floated over the cube wall. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

It had been a pretty good few days, work-wise. The search page on the company website was finally returning accurate results, apparently for the first time since it had been added — Crowley had figured out that the search APIs[1] didn’t actually work as documented, and the last developer had been using the wrong one the whole time. Of course, SearchManager.ContentSearch returned completely differently-formatted results from SearchManager.AdvancedSearch, because of course it did, so he’d had to rewrite a good chunk of the SearchHelper class to work with the new input.[2] At least it’d given him a chance to clean up some of the Jerry.

He couldn’t fault his predecessor on enthusiasm. The guy had plainly enjoyed development as a form of play, and not just as something functional. Crowley just wished he maybe would’ve used a different codebase as his playground.

Still, he’d received a very nice note of thanks from the VP of Marketing, and Ben had seemed extremely pleased. Never bad to have your boss pleased with your work.

Crowley looked up at a rustling outside his cube. It wouldn’t be Aziraphale, Aziraphale had been in a series of very intense oh-shit-now-what meetings after everyone had learned how completely colo could fall off a cliff last week, but that didn’t mean he didn’t _hope_...

One of the people from Internal Communications was just pinning something up on the board across the hall. A piece of paper which appeared to have a large rubber duck on it.

“Ducks,” Crowley muttered.

He still needed to finish up this ticket before he could take a break, because the copyright year at the bottom of the website was _wrong_ and fixing it was _very critical_ and he knew far better than to try to explain that that wasn’t how United States copyright law worked. But it didn’t take long at all to replace the hard-coded year with a little bit of code to get it dynamically. Done. Sorted. Committed to SVN under Ramona’s credentials, pushed to the shared dev server, wait for the entire bloody site to recompile and fire off a Jira comment.

He ambled up to the poster on his way to the men’s room.

_DUCK UP A COWORKER’S CUBICLE_

_Cover a coworker’s cube in ducks for a day for $10. Don’t want the ducking mess? $20 buys duck insurance for the entire week. Our minions do all the work — you remain completely anonymous!_

Proceeds to benefit the local food pantry.

Crowley grinned. Glanced down the hall, to the sysadmin alcove which he couldn’t see from around the corner, but knew was there. And there were a couple of cubes in there, now weren’t there? One of them was even occupied.

By a certain sysadmin who was up to his ears in meetings this week, but was slated to be back in his cube like usual Monday next. Just in time for this little ducking event to start.

This week had been terrible, because he’d been Aziraphale-less every day, and he’d been fucking haunted by tender gray-blue eyes every night. Eyes, and lips that shaped an open “wuh” sort of sound, and a hand that traced down his arm before sadly not rising to cup his face and draw him into an endless, aching kiss.

Next week, though? Much better. Aziraphale would be around for the occasional IM again, and for their regular lunches, over in the cafeteria or anywhere around this side of town. Probably Aziraphale would flirt with him. Possibly Crowley would even flirt back.

Most likely he wouldn’t drop a note on Aziraphale’s desk that read _Do you like me? check one_ , although it would be pretty in character with all the rest of this nonsense.

And best of all was the duck thing. Pranking Aziraphale sounded like an excellent time. He’d probably get all pouty about having to move the ducks aside to work, and about the indignity of the whole idea, and Crowley would make lots of sympathetic noises and be the very best friend ever. Until a few days or weeks later when he’d admit it had been him the whole time. Laugh himself silly when Aziraphale got annoyed all over again. It wouldn’t last long. Crowley would get a light scolding, and then Aziraphale would realize how funny it was too, and then they’d laugh together.

Maybe Aziraphale would be so taken with Crowley’s cleverness that he’d kiss him. That would be... very, very nice.

He should maybe stop standing in front of this poster right now, though. Standing, and staring, and having another minor face-combustion incident as he dreamed out the next few weeks.

Crowley stumbled off to the men’s room, then down to the cafe for a latte. He’d stopped visiting the break room for its terrible coffee about the same time his lunches with Aziraphale became the done thing. And if anyone ever claimed that was anything but coincidence, he’d call ’em a damn liar.

* * *

“Yes! The duck minions would love to help you.”

Shi-Yeon was Crowley’s favorite of the internal comms team. She was bubbly but full of biting wit, like a puppy wielding a razor blade. She’d made a random movie reference once, in an elevator full of assorted coworkers, offhandedly. Probably expecting it to go completely unnoticed. When Crowley had rattled off the next line she’d high-fived him.[3]

She was pretty, too, with her dark eyes and her wide, crooked smile. Crowley had kind of had a tiny crush on her, before he’d first seen Aziraphale.

“We take checks made out to Second Harvest, or if you’ve got cash...”

“Yeah, really cannot be bothered to write a check.”

“Me neither. I think the only time I do is to pay the water bill.” Shi-Yeon took his cash and disappeared it neatly into an envelope. “We’re trying to balance the week so we don’t have to run out for more ducks, but we can do yours Tuesday, if that’s good. Who’s the lucky victim?”

Crowley grinned. Couldn’t help it. “Aziraphale.”

The wide smile fell right off Shi-Yeon’s face. “Aziraphale. Network administrator Aziraphale. You want to duck _him_.”

“I... yeah?”

The guy in the next cube — Crowley couldn’t remember his name — stood up and peered over the wall. “I’m not doing it,” he told Shi-Yeon.

“Yeah, I... huh. You’re not gonna get anyone to take you up on this one.” She started to dig into her envelope. “Give you this back...”

Crowley gaped. “W — but the minions, the — you can’t even duck him a little?”

“You can do it if you want,” the guy said. “I can give you the ducks. But I’m not going anywhere near his cube.”

Shi-Yeon was nodding. “Duck minions say nope.”

“Tuesday? So I leave them with you Monday after 5, and they go back on my desk by first thing Wednesday?” The guy looked down on his side of the wall, then placed a cheery yellow toy on top. “We’re planning to do ten ducks per ducking.”

“It’s a buck a duck,” Shi-Yeon added.

Crowley thought about it a second. Maybe this was even better. Little bit of a personal touch. He could even hop on Amazon tonight, see if he could pick up a few extra duckies to go along with the ones he’d just paid to rent.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll do it, sure.”

So that was sorted, differently than he’d thought, but his daydreams were still on the table. Driving Aziraphale up the wall, copping to it and incurring his wrath, then they’d laugh about it. Maybe Aziraphale would call him _my dear_ and hold him close. Yeah. That would be very much good.

He just didn’t get why the wrath part was so scary to everyone else. He’d annoyed Aziraphale plenty of times by now, sometimes on purpose but sometimes just by doing something stupid, and he was still very much alive to tell the tale. Aziraphale wasn’t _really_ some kind of tooth-gnashing monster. Not even an avenging angel. Just the regular kind. The kind that was glowing and glorious and —

“Ah! Crowley!”

He’d turned a corner of the hallway, and there was Aziraphale, coming around the other corner past the bubblers.[4] Temporarily released from his endless meetings, maybe, bow tie neat as ever above his soft-looking sweater, and Crowley’s mouth completed his interrupted thought without any pause at all.

“Beautiful,” he said.

Aziraphale stopped dead, the faintly harried look on his face giving way to surprise. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that —”

“Wh — I —” Face going up in flames again. Aziraphale didn’t have time for this now, he was _busy_... “Thinking about. Um. Hey! How go the... things? Management still in a, uh. Bit of a tizzy?”

“You could say that.” Aziraphale took a few steps nearer, giving Crowley a look that was hard to parse out. “I’m only just running to get something to drink and then it’s back to the planning. But I am so glad I ran into you. I have missed our time together terribly this week.”

Crowley opened and closed his mouth a few times. “Oh.”

Three more steps and then Aziraphale was right in front of him. Really kind of closer than people generally stood for conversations in Crowley’s experience.

“I have missed _you_ terribly,” Aziraphale said, without a hint of flirting. “Though I daresay you could probably guess that by now.”

It was amazing, how complex a task it was to breathe. Draw in a lungful of oxygen through a mouth that no longer knew how to close. Let it out. Then a second time, and a third, and keep doing it forever, apparently. Crowley didn’t know how people managed under ordinary circumstances. Let alone with a divine avatar of beauty looking up at them.

“Missed you too.” He could barely get the words out, but he knew Aziraphale heard them. Every little line of his face seemed to soften, to perk up into an expression that wasn’t anything so nameable as a smile but which still made Crowley’s heart fall over and cry. So pretty. _So_ pretty, and so happy as his eyes searched Crowley’s face, settling at last on the sunglasses, a smile breaking out at last.

The touch he laid on Crowley’s arm was even briefer than the one from last week. Crowley had on short sleeves today, though. Soft fingers, a soft palm, skated across his skin, sending the hairs on end. Leaving fire behind.

“I really must get back. I wish I had more time to talk, but I expect we’ll be on the phone with the vendor until 6 at least. Perhaps if I get a minute tomorrow...”

“T-tonight?”

Crowley could see Aziraphale shift, out of the corner of his eye, maybe taking a step back. Hopefully not taking a step back. But he was too busy digging his phone out of his pocket to look too closely. He opened up a new contact, hesitated for a half-heartbeat before naming it _angel_ , then held the phone out. 

Bad idea, this. Terrible idea. Aziraphale definitely didn’t like-like him, Crowley wasn’t a _bad_ catch or anything but he was really just some guy, in the end, nowhere near as wonderful as Aziraphale was, and this was playing a card in a game he didn’t even have table stakes for in the first place...

“Text,” Crowley said. “If you want. Tell me all about your day. All your, your exciting planning sessions and vendor calls.”

Aziraphale looked at him for approximately six thousand years.

When he took the phone, their hands didn’t brush. But his eyes sparkled as they darted between it and Crowley’s face.

“I’ve heard people mention your little nickname for me, you know.” His round fingers tapped busily. His round face smiled down at the screen, double chin creasing adorably. “It seems you’ve modified it somewhat. Any reason?”

“W...”

Aziraphale handed Crowley’s phone back to him.

“Wanted to.”

Crowley dashed off a quick text, _please don’t smite me thanks_ , and Aziraphale’s pocket buzzed.

A door opened somewhere in the other hallway, the low murmur of voices suddenly much louder. “...find another marker, and then we can start brainstorming the punch list,” the head of IT was saying.

Aziraphale maybe looked regretful. “I’d best get that drink. Quite a bit more discussion left yet today, I think.”

“Course. ‘M sorry you get stuck with all the shit work around here.” Crowley’s next breath skipped in his chest. “Angel.”

“Hmm.” The smile Aziraphale gave him started out flirtatious, but softened into something much too terrifying to put a label on. “It has its rewards.”

He stepped back, then turned away. Bent over the bubbler, and Crowley made himself walk away before he could start being creepy. Staring at your friend while he took a drink was... not really appropriate behavior.

Staring at him, and thinking about calling him “angel” again, just to get another one of those smiles.

His phone buzzed after he’d been back at his desk a while. A response to his text.

_Oh, I hung up my sword of flame a long time ago_ , Aziraphale had sent. _I’m hardly built to be a fighter._

A second text popped in as Crowley watched.

_I think love is a far worthier occupation anyway. Wouldn’t you agree?_

Crowley blushed all the way to the top of his stupid skull. Get Aziraphale away from the company-tracked IM system and apparently he’d just say things like...

Well. Well, fine. _Fine_. Crowley could play that game. Text exactly what he was thinking, and see how much Aziraphale liked _that_. Show him a thing or three.

He tapped the words out defiantly. _yeah. and you are built for that._

Hit Send. Reread what he’d typed.

Lowered his head carefully to the desk and waited for sweet, merciful Death.

His phone buzzed almost immediately, then again a minute or two later. When he finally looked at it, the first response was just _Flatterer_.

The second one was the one that made Crowley glad Death hadn’t taken him, though. 

_I do hope you have plenty of time for texting this evening. These meetings have given me *so* much to complain about._

Ridiculous fussy angel.

Crowley texted exactly that back to him. Grinned, and put his phone away, and got back to work.

That night the text conversation went on until nearly midnight before Aziraphale had to go to sleep. Not anything flirtatious. Mostly Aziraphale’s workplace travails and Crowley’s cheerful mockery of his pain. But Aziraphale signed off with _Have very lovely dreams_ , and Crowley intended to do just that. 

Dreams of pretty angels, maybe. Soft, and fat, and built just right for Crowley to love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear they're going to kiss soon. Honest.
> 
> 1\. An API is an Application Programming Interface. It’s kind of like… an application has a bunch of little doors in it, made available to you, the developer trying to do something to/with that application, by the people who originally made it. Inside the application are rooms and rooms and rooms full of secret data and things you don’t get to see, but you know that there’s this series of doors to the outside, where you are. And ideally each door is documented properly, so you know that if you open, say, that third door on the right there, and shove a loaf of bread through, then you will get back some avocado toast. You don’t know how the application is making the toast, or what other ingredients it’s using, or where it’s getting them from; and you don’t need to know. You just know that if you provide bread you will get toast. Sometimes the doors are not documented properly, so you keep getting pie out of the avocado toast door, and you don’t know why. Oops! It turns out that you have to pass a loaf of _rye_ bread in order to get the toast, and _wheat_ bread produces the pie. Why did no one document this? Dammit.
> 
> That’s an API. Basically. [return to text]
> 
> 2\. I’m sorry. I know this is technobabble but it’s sort of hard to translate. Just… Crowley realized the Avocado Toast Door would actually never return avocado toast at all, he had to use the Small Statue Of A Wombat Door, because that’s actually the door that produces the toast. Except the door they were using would always return stuff on a small circular plate, so they just had enough room to stick a small circular plate of food onto; but the Small Statue Of A Wombat Door, which they need to start using now, always returns its stuff on a very large square tray. Crap! There’s no room for a very large square tray! Now we have to move everything else on the table around to make room, just because we changed which door we were using!
> 
> Makes perfect sense, right?
> 
> Wombats are neat. [return to text]
> 
> 3\. Shi-Yeon: “That’s a good thing. Maybe the best of things.”  
> Crowley: [beat while he considers whether to go for it] “And no good thing ever dies?” [return to text]
> 
> 4\. A “bubbler”, to some Wisconsinites, is a water fountain. Apparently it’s also drug paraphernalia? Crowley’s workplace does not have those installed in the hallways. [return to text]  
> 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley ducks Aziraphale. There is also a ridiculous amount of flirting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-level warning notes:** The word "fat" is used as a neutral-to-positive descriptor.

Crowley might have gone a little overboard on the ducks.

He’d known he was going to have ten to work with, a buck a duck, just like Shi-Yeon had said. There was that personal touch to think about, though. A little something extra for the sweetest bastard in the world. So he’d hopped online to look for a rubber ducky that was also an angel. And one wearing sunglasses.

That one was the calling card. Everyone at work who didn’t know Crowley as Crowley still knew him as the guy who always wore sunglasses.

Those ducks plus another dozen generic ones, as close as he could find to the one the other duck minion had shown him, and he figured he was good. All set to go, as he pulled the bag of self-selected ducks out of the Bentley on Monday morning — once he had the others in hand, he’d just subtly wait for Aziraphale to leave for the day, then duck the hell out of his cube.

“Hey, Anthony,” Richard from Publications said, coming up next to him as he waited for the elevator up from the parking ramp. “How’s it going?”

Crowley offered the polite talking-to-random-coworkers smile that always felt fake from the inside. “Oh, you know. Not on fire. Always could be worse, long as you’re not on fire.”

“Busy week ahead?”

Team lunch today, so maybe a little extra finding excuses to wander near Aziraphale’s, just in the hopes he’d be there to talk to. Duck shenanigans tomorrow. And there was that ticket he needed to finish up by Wednesday in order to have in for UAT[1] on time, and he really wanted to get a prototype of that marketer-configurable Google Ads integration working on his local this week... 

“Not too bad, unless something blows up.” He boarded the elevator with Richard, watching him hit both of their floors. “You?”

“Same old. Hopefully we won’t be sending you guys anything, right?”

Crowley polite-smiled again. “I... would be okay with that. Can always Jira-fy if you need us, though.”

He got off on 2, strolling by Aziraphale’s (the alcove dark, his cube currently empty) before circling back through the rest of the IT area, toward where the Web Services team sat.

“G’morning, Debbie. How’s the foot?”

“Well, good morning, Crowley!” She leaned on her crutch, giving the appendage in question a little wiggle. “You know, it’s doing okay. Should be tap-dancing down the halls again pretty soon.”

Crowley grinned. “Yeah, and if there’s one thing that makes you want to dance, it’s last-minute report requests.”

Debbie rolled her eyes dramatically, then laughed.

“Send you a few to celebrate when you’re off the crutch. You can get me a list of all our left-handed members from Idaho, right?”

He slithered past her half-hearted swat, leaving her with another grin and a sing-songed “Happy Monday...”

A couple more turns through the maze and a couple more greetings exchanged, and he was slouching into his own chair. That marketer-proof ad setup wasn’t going to write itself, and all.

* * *

Ben had decided that the entire Web Services department should start eating lunch together once a month, and Monday was it. So instead of sitting across a table from the most beautiful human being he’d ever had the pleasure to kind of completely lose his heart to, Crowley nursed his free beer and did the team-building thing.

“Look,” he chimed in. “I’m not saying that the whole thing _wouldn’t_ burn down, fall over, then sink into the swamp...”

“But the next one would stay up?” Greg offered, and then laughed when Luis tilted his head. Ben was laughing too.

“I don’t _want_ all that,” Ramona said. Four-fifths of the table dissolved into giggles, even if the last member of the party still looked lost.

Ben waved a hand, still chuckling weakly. “Sorry, Luis, a little before your time, I think.” He paused. “Well, really, before everyone’s time except me. Ramona, were you even born yet in 1975[2]?”

“Nope.”

“The thing is,” Crowley elaborated, dunking a cheese curd into the ranch, “the thing is, I feel like it doesn’t hurt to _try_. Other than the burning down, falling over part.”

“That, uh, sounds kind of painful, honestly.”

“Look, only a little bit of fire!”

That got another round of laughter. Crowley chomped happily on his cheese curd. His previous job had paid way better, and by God, Satan, Cthulhu and all the baby shoggoths, it’d been nice to have an actual QA department instead of a userbase who wanted their fixes in production yesterday but stopped answering emails as soon as it was time for them to actually validate the work. But he wouldn’t go back if he could. He had fun here. And he actually got to fix stuff just because it was broken and he could, sometimes, not just because a review board somewhere had approved it for the next release.

All that even without the fact that Aziraphale was here.

Crowley’s experience with leaving that last job had been... not entirely great, and he’d been a little relieved to have landed anywhere solid at all. But it felt kind of like he was where he was supposed to be, now. Like maybe it’d all been necessary to get him right here, at this random little company, slinging code and ducking angels.

Funny how things could work out, sometimes.

* * *

Now that they had each other’s numbers, Aziraphale no longer sent any friendly, vaguely-flirtatious messages to Crowley through the corporate IM system. Instead, he sent texts that were so far from being _vaguely_ flirtatious that sometimes Crowley had to put his head down and wait for the nuclear blush to subside.

Never anything explicit, or even really suggestive of that kind of stuff. But Crowley had no idea why anyone would need to say anything like that when the English language apparently contained a combination of words like _For a long time, I thought it was the most beautiful music I’d ever heard. But then, of course, I hadn’t heard your laughter yet._

Fucking hell. Nobody said things like that without — without meaning —

_thanks_ Crowley had fumbled out, and then he’d hidden his face in his hands until he could breathe without conscious effort again. Aziraphale had sent a smiley face meanwhile, but that was it.

Before he could stop himself, Crowley picked up his phone and sent _every time I hear you laugh all I want is to make you do it again_ , which didn’t feel quite as eloquent as what Aziraphale had said, but whatever.

_We are still on for lunch tomorrow, yes?_

_course we are it’s my turn to pay_

_Ah yes. I suspect you’ll be paying for some cochinita pibil, then. Fancy Mexican with an emphasis on the Yucatan?_

_whatever you want angel_

Crowley’s heart beat a little faster, just like every time he’d typed that word out. This was number three. That plus the one time he’d said it aloud, of course.

_You should be careful offering something like that. I might just hold you to it._

Which actually made Crowley laugh out loud in his cube. God, did Aziraphale even know how little of a problem that was? Other than the one thing, the whole clothes-off-activities thing that Crowley really didn’t want to do, he would probably give Aziraphale anything he asked for. Anything in the world. Outside of it, too. The stars in the sky.

Crowley set his phone back down again. What he was thinking now wasn’t for texting, because what he was thinking was _I think I might be falling in love with you_. It was _You’re so pretty and so brilliant and definitely beyond my league, miles, light-years beyond it, but I feel like maybe if I kissed you you might kiss me back, only there’s no way I’m going to risk it in case I’m wrong_. It was _If you kiss me I will definitely kiss you back_.

He squinted at the code up on his monitor. So the CMS automatically reset the login cookie back to session-only[3] on every page load, “keep me logged in for two weeks” option be damned, that was just great. Still, maybe he could do something with user metadata, keep track of the correct cookie expiration date that way. Have to reset it in the cookie every page load, but... wait a second, they were already working with all the same objects in the site header code, so he could add his login fix there and it wouldn’t even slow things down...

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly. When the duck minion dropped a bag of yellow off at Crowley’s desk just before 5:30, it still felt a couple hours earlier.

“Good luck,” the minion said before disappearing again.

Aziraphale was usually gone from the office before Crowley, although he’d answer emails all hours of the night, sometimes. Presumably he slept. He was gone now when Crowley casually strolled by the systems area — the alcove dark, both monitors powered off. 

Right, then.

The rented ducks went in first. Lined up neatly along the top of the cube wall, spaced as evenly as Crowley could manage. He angled them all to face inward, toward where Aziraphale would be if he were seated at his desk. A whole tiny plastic audience, silently judging every typo. Not that he had any evidence that Aziraphale even made typos, but. The principle was sound.

His own ducks required a little more creativity. One on the keyboard, right in the middle. One balanced carefully on the mouse. The flatscreen monitors were too narrow, but he could put one on each stand... one on each section of desk, and on the various books scattered around, and peeking out from behind Aziraphale’s desk phone...

The one with sunglasses went inside the cabinet where Aziraphale kept his teas. Crowley had explicit permission to go into that cabinet — “Please don’t hesitate,” Aziraphale had said, “if you should ever have the urge to take a break from that terrible coffee then you’ll always have the option of some good proper tea” — which was the only reason he was willing to open it up now. The duck went at the very back, bill just poking around the edge of a tin of chamomile.

Last of all was the one with the plastic halo molded onto its head. Crowley put that one right in the middle of Aziraphale’s chair. Right where the angel would sit.

Crowley’s angel, maybe. Possibly.

“Right.” He surveyed his work with a critical eye, straightening a couple of the ducks for maximum aesthetic appeal. “Spose that’s it, then.”

He made sure to kill the lights in the alcove as he left. Sometimes the motion detector would trigger for people walking by in the hall, and he wanted the whole area in darkness, come morning, until the moment Aziraphale switched the light back on.

* * *

_Good morning, Crowley! And a very bright and lovely one, too._

Sent just after 6:00, and accompanied by a photo of the sky outside Aziraphale’s window. Bastard had no respect for Crowley’s late-rising ways.

_Of course, the morning isn’t the only lovely thing I’ll be seeing today._

...bastard had no respect for Crowley’s _heart_ , either. Incredible enough that he’d started texting Crowley in the mornings, pictures of the sunrise or his breakfast, like he wanted talking to Crowley to be part of his routine. But of course he’d keep flirting too. Of course.

_I see this fellow on my way to the bus stop sometimes. His name is Harvey. Not a dog person myself, but he does look jaunty, doesn’t he?_

An hour or so later, that one, along with a picture of a small fluffy dog on a leash. Tied around its neck was a little tartan bandana.

Finally, a few minutes after that, _I’ve been a bit out of sorts, the last week or two. It will be very, very good to have time together again._

Crowley smiled at the words. _Very, very good_. Rated two veries, he did.

Nothing after that, even though Aziraphale would have gotten to work by now. Whatever his reaction had been to the ducks, he hadn’t said anything about them.

_yeah it will_ Crowley texted back, three noncommittal words in place of all the stuff he didn’t have the guts to say.

* * *

“Happy Tuesday!” Ben knocked on the edge of Crowley’s cube, even though he’d already announced his presence. “Got time for a hot new request?”

Crowley blinked behind the sunglasses as a series of taped-together printouts landed on his desk.

“Marketing has been working with the Compliance team, and they’ve envisioned a complete redesign of the Compliance landing page. You see, there are some notes from Andrea here...”

The VP of Marketing. Who had sent him that very nice thank-you note after he’d fixed the search page, and apparently figured he was the man for this job — he spotted his own name in her looping script, on one of the post-its stuck to the mocked-up webpage.

“Take a look and see if you can’t come up with an estimate for how long this would take to develop, could you?” Ben nodded, as if agreeing with himself. “This will be your top priority for the moment.”

Crowley pondered at some of the notes. _Dynamic list of most relevant blog posts_ , said one. _Rotating hero [4] slideshow_, said another. _Pop up survey???_

“I haven’t finished that ticket for Finance,” he said. “Not sure I can get it to them by tomorrow if I’m analyzing this.”

“Oh, that’s fine. Consider everything else on hold.”

Crowley smiled and nodded through a further discussion of the Marketing and Compliance teams’ joint vision, then was left with the printout at last.

So much for all the stuff he’d been working on. At least it wasn’t a “yes, and”. No having to work double-time to get it all done, long nights and through lunch.

Which made him think of Aziraphale, of course.

Still nothing via text since before he’d woken up. Aziraphale showed as active in the corporate IM client, so he was here, anyway. Hadn’t gotten suddenly ill at the bus stop, or anything.

Crowley could send something himself, anyway. Jumpstart the conversation that way.

_guess who just had all his projects shelved for a brand new one because a different department yelled louder_ , he tapped out. _it’s me. the unlucky bastard is me._

Nothing for a while. The news ticker on the homepage could probably be adapted to show posts off the Compliance team’s blog. They already had a rotating slideshow developed, so he could reuse that here. Wouldn’t even require any new code besides maybe some updated styling. He hoped the three question marks in _Pop up survey???_ meant that the business team had doubts about the idea.

When his phone buzzed, he picked it up not quite fast enough to break the sound barrier.

_I have had an unusual morning myself_ , Aziraphale had replied. _I’m not entirely sure who to thank for that, either._

_?_

_Perhaps you’d better come see for yourself, if you aren’t too busy addressing the shouting._

_be there in one_

It was probably the shifting gears, the drop-everything directive, that had him so distracted. Or thinking about lunch, about buying Aziraphale cochinita pibil, or anything else he wanted, as long as it would make him happy. Just... just Aziraphale, being happy. That was something to look forward to. Something very, very good to look forward to.

Or maybe it was just that he had the memory of a goddamn goldfish, who knew.

He ambled down the hall, pulling up into the systems alcove, and —

Fuck. He’d completely forgotten the ducks.

The ones up around the top of Aziraphale’s cube were still there, at least, all facing inward toward where Crowley could hear rapid typing. The row of little plastic tailfeathers was ridiculous, surprised the hell out of him as he came around the corner, and he was the one who’d _put_ them there.

“Uhh,” he remarked.

“Crowley, is that you?”

The typing stopped, and Aziraphale came around the wall of his cube a moment later. Wearing a waistcoat with his shirt and bow tie today. Curly hair a pale cloud like always. Pretty like always. God, it’d been too long. They’d run into each other in the hall on, what, Thursday? Might as well have been centuries.

“Me,” Crowley said belatedly. Even though Aziraphale could see him perfectly well now. “‘S me. Hi. You, uh —” He gestured vaguely. “Ducks.”

Aziraphale frowned at them. “As I said — unusual. I’d honestly expected you would be the responsible party, but you seem as surprised as I was...”

Crowley nodded as if he was following along, and not completely distracted by the cute little pout of Aziraphale’s frowning mouth.

“...and, anyway, I suspect that you’d be completely unable to contain yourself if it was you.”

The cute little pout dropped away from Aziraphale’s mouth. Even worse, the smile that replaced it. Even more distractingly adorable. The little glimmer in Aziraphale’s eyes, something amused and annoyed and fond all at once.

“Too busy laughing at me to keep up the pretense in that case.”

Crowley followed him back around the wall of his cube, and yep, there were the dozen-odd other ducks, mostly still where he’d left them. The ones on the keyboard and mouse had been set haphazardly aside so Aziraphale could work. The one with the little angel halo was neatly placed right under the monitors, though, just past the keyboard. Like maybe Aziraphale had set it there very carefully, after removing it from his chair. Like maybe he wanted to keep looking at it. 

_Angel_ , Crowley had meant it to say, so much meaning crammed into one bit of novelty molded plastic, _remember that that’s what you are, you’re a beautiful angel, and apparently I’m too timid to ask you to please hold me and never stop, so I’m covering your desk in ducks instead. I’m kind of a disaster. Hi._

Crowley looked around at all the other ducks, on every halfway clear surface. That plus the ten up on the wall. He really had gone a bit overboard.

“So.” Aziraphale glanced up at him, a little of the fondness still around his mouth. “Since you aren’t now laughing at your own cleverness, I suppose the culprit remains a mystery.”

Crowley leaned his arm against the side of Aziraphale’s cabinet. Shifted into a new slouch, weight on his forward foot, which happened to move him closer to Aziraphale. Actually really close. Enough that Aziraphale had to tilt his head up, just a little, to look at him. “Uh, well. I mean. _You’re_ the one who’s. Who’s. Not subtle about things.”

“I suppose I’m not.” Aziraphale raised one of his hands to the cabinet, watching his own finger trace down the painted metal. Then he looked back up at Crowley. “Whereas you’re a master of subtlety, I suppose, hmm?” A deep crinkling of his eyes. “Might have to just ask you what you’re thinking. Since I’ll never figure it out otherwise.”

Crowley was catching on fire again. Dammit.

“So.” The soft hand slid a little closer to Crowley’s arm, and that arm decided on its own to shift until it’d put Crowley’s palm flat against the cabinet. His bony fingers rested mere inches from Aziraphale’s. “Are you thinking about how much fun it is to beset me with rubber ducks? Or something else?”

“Else.” Crowley cleared his throat and mumbled the absolute truth. “Something else.”

Now Aziraphale’s hand was maybe a half-inch from his. Maybe less. “Care to share?”

_Thinking about your hand. So fat and so pretty and do you know how much I want to hold it? Do you want me to hold it? Are you just flirting for fun, or would you want me to — to —_

Crowley pulled his hand back to his side. His chest was working hard for some reason. “Buying you lunch today. Yeah? The, the coaching pitbull thing.”

“Cochinita pibil,” Aziraphale corrected, laughing.

“Whatever. Just... really looking forward to that. Just lunches again.”

“Hmm.”

Crowley was going to fall right into those gray-blue eyes. Just lose his balance and topple forward and get lost in them forever.

Then they flicked to the side. Back to him. A little smirk danced around Aziraphale’s mouth before skipping away somewhere else. “You know, I rather wish it had been you to order the ducks.”

“Hngh?”

“Then I would know who to thank.”

Crowley felt all arms and legs, suddenly, and hands. Awkward limbs flung all over the place, without anything to anchor them. Just a jangling mess, falling toward Aziraphale, his eyes and his smile and his whole round self.

He kept upright, though. Maybe it was the concentrating on that which loosened his mouth. “What if it was? M-me. If it was me. How would you, uh...”

Impossible to finish that sentence. That was okay, though, because Aziraphale seemed to get it, if the softening of his smile was any indication.

“Ah, my dear,” he said. “Rather differently than I would thank anyone else.”

“Oh,” Crowley remarked.

He could probably lean in a little closer, if he wanted. Probably Aziraphale might keep smiling at him like that. Might close his eyes as Crowley cupped a hand against his round cheek, tipping his head, ready for the delicate kiss Crowley could leave on his tender lips...

Only maybe not. And it wasn’t like Crowley hadn’t gone through this before, in the past; not like he hadn’t gotten that _Oh. Please hold me close_ feeling before, and asked, and been shot down sometimes. Been taken up on it plenty of times too. It just felt different this time. Like the risk wasn’t worth it, the possibility of making a move and risking their whole friendship on the outcome.

Aziraphale could make a move if he wanted. He sure as hell didn’t lack for self-confidence. He could make a move, and Crowley would be extremely happy to accept if he did; and if he didn’t, then probably he was just flirting for the fun of it. Like but not like-like. Not “possibly falling in love just a little bit”.

Not falling for Crowley the way Crowley was falling for him.

He pushed his hands down into his pockets. “Well. Um.”

Aziraphale’s eyes might have dropped to his mouth for half an instant. Only maybe not.

“Good luck with the, er, new friends, I guess.” He slithered past Aziraphale, back out towards his own cube. “Be by to get you for lunch later.”

“I’ll be waiting, dear,” Aziraphale replied, in a voice that held no laughter at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure I'm ever going to namedrop it in the text, but [this](http://www.lamestiza.com/) is the restaurant Aziraphale has selected for their lunch. In their world things are, hmm, a bit simpler right now, so their workplace has _not_ sent everyone home to work remotely, and there is no need to stay away from restaurants or other public places. So they can go and have tasty Mexican without worries.
> 
> 1\. UAT: User Acceptance Testing. Basically "hey, you requested this, now test it and validate that what we did meets your requirements so we can deploy it to production". People call it "UAT testing" a lot and it drives me rather spare. [return to text]  
> 2\. Everyone but Luis is referencing the movie Monty Python And The Holy Grail. [return to text]  
> 3\. A cookie is a glorified little text file that a website can use to keep track of you, sometimes for Sinister Tracking Purposes and sometimes just to keep you logged in because you asked to be kept logged in. If no expiration date is set for the cookie, it's a "session" cookie, meaning it will be deleted as soon as the browser is closed. A certain content management system which shall remain nameless will always delete the expiration date from the login cookie each time the user navigates to a new page on the site, and if you actively set an expiration date in that cookie already because you wanted to be able to keep your users logged in for longer than "however long it takes for them to close the browser", then too bad. Our website's codebase still has a comment with a shrug emoji in it, because I was so annoyed at the clunky workaround which was officially the best way to address this. I'll be sad when we go to Other CMS in a couple years and leave my annoyed shrug emoji behind. [return to text]  
> 4\. A "hero" image, in webpage design, is just a big ol image, generally at or near the top. I've just realized I have gotten used to this, to the point where it no longer seems annoyingly weird. Send help.[return to text]  
> 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thursday is when everything blows up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-level warning notes:** The word "fat" is used as a neutral-to-positive descriptor.

“Really, it was a bit embarrassing.” Aziraphale swirled a chip through the salsa, hand twisting gracefully in a way that put Crowley’s usual “dunk and chomp” maneuver to shame. “We aren’t even close to meeting a single one of the scorecard metrics.[1] Red and orange across the board. And the vendor was very gracious about it, of course, assured us that none of their clients ever managed to turn everything green for very long at all, and I’m sure that’s _true_ , but...”

Crowley looked at his own hand. It had slid maybe a little far across the table, over to Aziraphale’s side. He didn’t move it away quite yet. “But you’re still regretting throwing in with this lot right about now, yeah?”

“Hmm. No, I’ve no regrets. I knew there would be challenges. But —”

Gray-blue eyes fixed on Crowley’s glasses. Then they darted down to the table between them. Up to Crowley again, and then a little smile spread across Aziraphale’s round face.

“But there are rewards as well.”

Didn’t seem like Aziraphale thought Crowley’s hand was too close, because he laid his own over it, heavy and gentle and _warm_. It stroked against Crowley’s hand, just once, but once was enough to make Crowley’s throat swallow on its own.

“Including some I really didn’t expect when I started.”

Half of Crowley’s brain was screaming at him to respond. To lift his hand up from the table, tangling Aziraphale’s pudgy fingers between his own. Look him in the eyes, in the softly smiling eyes, and smile back. Hold his hand till the mains got here.

The other half of his brain didn’t scream anything. Too busy gibbering in a corner.

The moment passed, anyway. Aziraphale’s hand slipped away. His eyes didn’t lose the tender look, though. No annoyance or hurt at Crowley’s lack of response. Because it was all a game to him, right? Flirting because it was fun, because he enjoyed it, and for no other reason.

Unless it was because he did feel something for Crowley, and was just very, very patient.

Fuck. This was _worse_ than when Crowley was a teenager. At least then the other party had always been an awkward mess, too.

“I,” he started.

Aziraphale’s eyes watched him. Aziraphale’s belly rose and fell with his slow, easy breath. Aziraphale’s everything was too beautiful for words, and here Crowley was trying to say anything that would matter, that wouldn’t just screw up this thing they had.

“Your hand’s really warm,” his mouth informed Aziraphale while he wasn’t looking.

He felt his whole face go hot as soon as he’d said it. Then Aziraphale’s lips curled up in a smirk, and Crowley blushed even harder against what be knew had to be coming. 

“The old saying is ‘cold hands, warm heart’, and I suppose one might be inclined to assume that the opposite would hold as well.” Aziraphale examined his own fingernails for a moment — perfectly tidy, of course. Crowley was pretty sure he got them manicured, which only made sense, the fussy bastard. “But I don’t believe myself particularly cold-hearted. In fact, I think I can be very full of warmth indeed.” Then he turned his laughing eyes back on Crowley. “You’ll have to let me know whether you agree.”

Crowley had just enough voice left to mumble his answer — “Dunno yet, need some — y’know — s’more close study first” — and then all his words dried up.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, but he still looked absolutely delighted. And was that a tiny blush dusting his pudgy cheeks? Or was it just the light making them look so sweet and kissable?

“I would be amenable to that,” he replied. “Whatever manner of... study... you’d care to pursue.”

For a few seconds, Crowley’s thoughts spun away. Study, yeah. He’d love to study Aziraphale extremely up close, learn the texture of his curls and the sound of his heartbeat. Research just exactly how it would feel to catch Aziraphale’s laugh with his own grinning mouth, arms around Aziraphale’s huge round belly. _My doctoral thesis is on holding your hand. My defense is, I’ll die if I don’t._

Probably looked an absolute idiot. That was okay. Aziraphale certainly shouldn’t expect anything else from him by now.

“Your plant sale was last weekend, yes?”

Oh yeah. Conversation. Human interaction of a verbal nature. That was a thing they did sometimes. “Yep.”

Aziraphale smiled, and if he’d been blushing then it had faded by now. “So... hmm, what was the phrase you used... how much of your money _did_ the arboretum end up securing?”

“Oh, angel, it was a bloodbath,” Crowley moaned into his hands. “The shooting stars were just _beautiful_ this year, and I bought a _plum tree_!”[2]

A little grin. “And now you’ll have to find places to put it all?”

“And now I’ll have to find places to _put_ it all! The tree wants sun, so I could stick it in the open patch near the volunteer garden, except it doesn’t like clay and that’s all I’ve got out there...”

It wasn’t until a few minutes later that he realized what he’d said. Realized he’d called Aziraphale an angel, it’d just slipped out casually, his poor exhausted heart hadn’t even gone into overdrive at all... and Aziraphale had just kept asking about his plants. Did that mean he liked it? Didn’t like it? Liked it but didn’t like-like it?

The rest of the meal was a blur.

On the walk back to the car, he almost took Aziraphale’s hand. Almost. He brushed one finger down the side of Aziraphale’s palm, too long to just be an accidental touch. Aziraphale’s arm paused its swing.

No. Nope. Crowley shoved both his hands in his pockets. Maybe tomorrow he’d be brave enough.

* * *

That evening, he snuck back into Aziraphale’s cube to collect the ducks. The generic ones were all where he’d seen them last, either exactly where he’d put them or pushed out of the way so Aziraphale could work. The one with sunglasses was still hidden behind the tea.

The one with the halo was gone. 

He wasn’t brave enough Wednesday either.

* * *

Thursday was when everything blew up.

Not work-wise, thank the dark lord Cthulhu. Scoping out the latest drop-everything request from Marketing was going just fine, and it looked like it probably wouldn’t take more than a couple weeks to do everything they said they’d wanted. Then, of course, they’d change their minds, because signed-off-on user requirements were for other people. Job security, anyway. No big deal.

Thursday wasn’t a problem for that reason. Didn’t start out at all unusual any other way, either. He woke to a series of texts from Aziraphale — a flirtatious good morning, a picture of his breakfast, a reminder that it was Crowley’s turn to pick where to eat lunch.

Crowley wound up so engrossed in his actual work that Aziraphale had to come get him when it was time, and the experience of hearing a knock, turning around, and seeing a pretty angel smiling at him from three feet away was so unexpectedly sweet that Crowley very nearly melted to nothing right there in his chair.

Didn’t help that Aziraphale was wearing Crowley’s favorite sweater vest today. It was a soft gray color, made his eyes practically glow. Looked like it would _feel_ soft, too. And the way it hugged Aziraphale’s belly, skimming over every perfect little curve of him, was... well. Fucking unfair, was what it was. How could Crowley ever be expected to look at anything else?

Except maybe Aziraphale’s face, full of badly-suppressed laughter. Crowley was okay with looking at that, at least temporarily. Couple thousand years, tops.

“Everything all right, my dear?” Nothing but concern in his musical voice. Never guess he was practically smirking. “You seem a bit... unsettled. If you would prefer that I leave...”

“Fine! Good. Yes.” Crowley didn’t knock his chair over when he stood up, but only because the damn thing had wheels and could just roll away instead. “Just gotta. Um.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said.

He bent over the keyboard, trying to save off what he’d been working on, misclicking enough times that he could feel the hilarity coming off Aziraphale. “Yes! Lunch, then! Howzabout, er, poke? Haven’t done that in a bit. Could go for some bowls of stuff.”

“What a very poetic way to describe it.”

Aziraphale stepped back from the doorway, then fell into his usual spot to Crowley’s right. The couple of people they passed in the hall both got out of their way.

“Feeling salmony today, I think. Might get that this time instead of the tuna.” Crowley was babbling, knew he was babbling. It gave him something to think about. Something other than angels and ducks and cozy sweater vests and _I think I might actually do it. Take me another month to work up to it, maybe, but I think I might actually just say something. Mostly because I’ll go spare if I don’t._

“Tuna’s great, but I always get the tuna... or, uh, what’s the bowl of the month, maybe that’s got something new on it...” He pulled his phone out, just in time to have something to occupy himself as they stepped into the elevator. He actually got service all the way down to the parking ramp, unlike his old job where he’d barely gotten it on the third floor, and he loaded up Miko Poke’s website to see that the bowl of the month contained...

“Duck.” Crowley swallowed a hysterical little laugh. “They’re serving duck.”

Aziraphale huffed his own laugh. “I have had quite enough of _those_ lately, thank you.”

Another topic would’ve been good right about then — would’ve been great, actually, getting them away from the whole subject area of waterfowl.

“Do you know,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully, “I still don’t know who left them.”

“O-oh,” Crowley replied.

“ _Someone_ went to the trouble of setting them up, but I had all three members of the Internal Communications team approach me at different times to assure me that they weren’t responsible.”

Crowley stepped through the door to the ramp. “Did they. And they didn’t tell you, uh...”

“The culprit’s identity? I’m not sure any of them knew.” Aziraphale followed him to the Bentley, weaving his round body between parked cars. “It seems to have been a... well, a rogue ducking.”

Crowley laughed, a little nervously. Although the answering grin on Aziraphale’s face gave him a warm feeling in his stomach which edged out the nerves, slightly.

“A rogue ducking, and...” Aziraphale’s voice went oddly gentle. They were at the Bentley now, and Crowley found himself leaning on her roof, watching Aziraphale very closely as he paused by the passenger door. “And by someone who’s picked up on your little nickname for me.” He smiled. “The ‘Avenging Angel’.”

They might’ve locked eyes if Crowley hadn’t been wearing the sunglasses.

“D... dunno that you’re the avenging type after all.”

Fuck, was he actually going to say it right here? Was he actually going to...

“Oh?”

Crowley felt his face go hot as he looked down at the Bentley’s roof. “Just a regular angel. Th — with the halo and all.”

Aziraphale didn’t say anything.

“Seems to me, anyway,” Crowley mumbled.

“I see.” Voice so fucking soft. Then silence for a few more seconds.

Aziraphale was smiling at him when he looked up, just a little. No hint of bastard anywhere about it.

“Are you going to let me in?”

Okay, there was the hint of bastard.

“R-right. Yep. The car.” Crowley unlocked it with a minimum of fumbling. When Aziraphale got in, pulling the seatbelt wide so it could wrap all the way around him, it only took a mildly awkward amount of time to remember to start driving.

At lunch, Aziraphale put one hand on the table, almost like an invitation. Grinned and flirted and was his usual perfect adorable self. Crowley wanted to hurl himself across the table, curl up around that beautiful belly, pressed against the soft gray sweater vest. 

He didn’t. Didn’t take the hand, either. When they got back to the office, they went back to their respective cubes with a quiet, non-demonstrative goodbye.

* * *

After the weekly Web Services team meeting, Crowley swung by the break room to grab something from the vending machine. There was a jigsaw puzzle just started on one of the tables, so he took a few minutes to finish out the top edge, then had a chat with Pammy from Finance on his way back to the elevator. All told, he was away from his cube for maybe ninety minutes.

When he got back, the rubber duck with sunglasses was sitting on his chair.

“Hwha —”

Crowley stopped so quickly that he actually stumbled back a little. Oh. The duck. The one he’d hidden in Aziraphale’s tea cabinet, the one that was his calling card, was supposed to let Aziraphale know who’d ducked him. That duck. That very specific duck.

Left on his chair.

Crowley leaned over his keyboard just long enough to log in and verify that nothing else needed his attention. Then he walked in an extremely calm and relaxed fashion to Aziraphale’s cube.

* * *

“H-hey?”

The rapid typing stopped. “Yes?”

“It’s, uh. Me?” A question. Even Crowley wasn’t sure. But Aziraphale apparently was, because he popped around the wall of his cube fast enough to make Crowley jump.

“Crowley.” Said perfectly calmly. His eyes flittered all over Crowley’s face, though. Down to Crowley’s arms when he crossed them over his chest. Up to his face again, definitely trying to find his eyes through the sunglasses, then dipping just a little lower, back up again —

“You,” Aziraphale said, “left the ducks.”

Crowley nodded.

“I’ve been wondering who did it for _days_ , and it was you all along.”

Another nod.

“The one on my seat.” Aziraphale looked away for half an instant, back toward his desk, maybe, or to something on it. “And of course the one I moved to yours.”

“So you’d know it was me,” Crowley said. “Little. Little joke.”

One eyebrow peaked. “A joke.”

“Except the... you know.” Crowley’s nuclear blush kicked in. “The one that — that’s you. The name. It’s not a joke. Never joking when I...”

Silence, for a few centuries, while Aziraphale’s eyes danced over him again. Something glimmered in them, and it didn’t look like anger.

“You’re awful,” he said, finally. He walked over to the server room door, continuing to scold as he unlocked and opened it. “You’re simply awful, just — just an absolute wretch —” stepping through and then turning to hoist that eyebrow at him again — “and I’m sure I don’t know at all why I put up with you.”

Crowley leaned in the doorframe, hands jammed in pockets. “Because I’m actually very clever?” he asked hopefully.

“Do get in here, please.” Then, as Crowley obeyed: “Oh, yes, terribly clever, hiding ducks all over my office. And then letting me think you were innocent. You didn’t actually _lie_ to me, of course, I rather think you couldn’t if you tried, but...”

Once Crowley was in the room — a space maybe twice the size of his cube, lined with server racks on all four walls — Aziraphale breezed past him to close the door.

Then he turned, put delicate hands onto Crowley’s shoulders, and pulled them both back against it.

“Clever, awful man,” he said.

Crowley kissed him.

He kissed him, pressing close to him, hands very much out of pockets now because there was all that gorgeous waist to hold. All of Aziraphale was right there, fat and perfect under his arms — against his body —

The hands on his shoulders slid up to his face, cradling it. Tilting his head just a little to the side, lining their mouths up as Aziraphale kissed him back, long and slow and disastrously, ruinously soft.

“So that’s what it takes to get you to do something.” Aziraphale capped the words with another brief kiss. “I was beginning to think I’d have to take out a billboard.”

Crowley huffed a laugh into their... third kiss? Were they up to three already? “Wasn’t sure you — I mean, you could’ve just been —”

Aziraphale combed a hand through Crowley’s hair, and he shivered.

“Didn’t know you _like_ -liked me,” he mumbled.

“Oh, I very much do.”

Crowley felt Aziraphale’s mouth curl into a smile against his, and he realized, suddenly, that his hands had started roaming on their own. One was still on Aziraphale’s back, gently wandering over the gentle rolls of flesh there, beneath his clothing. The other had circled around to the side of his belly. Lay there now, cupped around the wide curve of it. Like it had wanted to hold all of him but just didn’t know where to start.

“I _like_ -like you immensely, my dear, but I do have one very important rule.” Aziraphale had pulled back just a little, just enough for Crowley to be able to see the smile rather than feel it. Smug, this one was. Smug and bastardy and kissable in a way that Crowley finally felt like he had the experience to judge. “I’m fairly sure it won’t be an issue for you, judging from how you’ve been looking at me for weeks...”

Crowley’s face turned white-hot.

Soft hands moved to his arms, coaxing them away from Aziraphale’s body. Plump fingers laid sweetly against his.

Aziraphale settled both of Crowley’s hands, palms out and fingers trembling, against his own belly. Right where it was widest, full and round in his clinging sweater vest.

“One must appreciate _all_ of me if they wish to appreciate _any_ of me.”

Crowley stared at him for a few seconds. Looked down at his own hands on that perfect, beautiful belly.

“Does that seem like a rule you can follow?”

A laugh in Aziraphale’s voice, because he already fucking knew. Weeks. Weeks, he’d said, Crowley’s heart-eyes had been obvious for weeks, and those heart-eyes were for every single little micrometer of Aziraphale, exactly as he was. No changes needed. Nothing to wish wasn’t there.

Crowley swallowed down his heart.

“Y-yeah.” One tentative squeeze, and his heart bypassed his throat entirely to climb up to thunder in his ears. “Ap. Appreciate. I can do that.”

Both hands slid around to Aziraphale’s sides, now. So soft. So soft and so pretty and so perfect and Crowley wanted to kiss him, wanted to lose himself forever in his soft pretty perfect fat arms.

“Angel,” he begged. Which wasn’t a question, but _Please kiss me_ was so many words, he couldn’t handle that many words right now, not when just the one was enough to fill his mouth. “Angel...”

“Darling,” Aziraphale beamed.

Really was a good thing Aziraphale was so brilliant, Crowley thought, as tender lips found his one more time. He’d had no trouble working that one out at all.

* * *

After some glorious eternity of kissing — it wasn’t really _making out_ , Crowley didn’t think, no one had used tongues and only his own hands had done the brief wandering — Aziraphale drew back a little, stroking a hand down Crowley’s inked temple.

“I’d very much like to date you, lovely. I’m not sure I was clear about that.”

Crowley made a tiny squeaking noise.

“Brief trysts in the server room aren’t my _ideal_ way to express my feelings for someone.” Aziraphale straightened his bow tie. “I rather prefer a good meal out together, or perhaps a shared stroll through the park.”

“Date,” Crowley squeaked again. “Okay. So, um... hypothetically that means, just, just spitballing here...” Breathing. Right. Good to remember to do that. “The. The prettiest person in the whole fucking world is... my boyfriend now?”

“Oh, you _flatterer_ ,” Aziraphale said smugly, pressing closer again, tilting his own head up even as Crowley was leaning down. “I should have locked you in here _ages_ ago.”

* * *

They made it out of the room eventually.

“Dinner,” Crowley said, as Aziraphale was locking back up behind them. “Can we? Wanna, wanna see you tonight. Wanna date you. _Go_ on a date.”

“Where will my boyfriend be taking me, then?”

That bastardy grin, because he knew exactly what he was doing, as always. He actually had the nerve to giggle as Crowley turned red again.

“Hhh.” Crowley leaned toward Aziraphale’s soft lips, then remembered they were still at work and should maybe actually be doing some work. “He can take you anywhere. Anywhere you want to go.”

So gorgeous, the eyes that looked up into his. Smiling softly, now. Gentle and sure.

“I just want to be with you, dear.” He stroked his fingers down Crowley’s cheek. “...as long as the food is good.”

Crowley laughed, nuzzling into the touch. Aziraphale laughed too, looking up at him, and Crowley felt himself sway closer, the laugh quieting as Aziraphale’s eyes slipped half-closed, mouth forming a tiny pout...

“Nope,” he grunted, looking away, blushing again, “can’t start that again, I’ll never stop.”

Aziraphale hummed happily. “You really shouldn’t tempt me like that.” Then, relenting a little bit, “Do you like Italian? Either Lombardino’s or Osteria Papavero should have a table, if you would be so good as to make the reservation.”

“S-sure.”

“Around eight o’clock?”

Crowley nodded.

“You can pick me up from home.” His eyes sparkled. “I’ll text you my address.”

Crowley nodded again.

“It will be lovely, darling, I’m sure.”

“L-lovely.”

“A very romantic first date,” Aziraphale added, flicking his eyes away conspicuously.

“Fff,” Crowley said, before falling into him for one last trembling kiss. Then he stumbled, somehow, back to his desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone <3  
> 
> 
> * * *
> 
>   
> 1\. Basically, the company has hired some security consultants, who have presented a list of "does your company do this best-practices thing?", and then Aziraphale plus some other key stakeholders come together to decide to what degree they do, in fact, do the thing. Turns out they mostly don't. I now know from experience that it's a little alarming and a little embarrassing when this happens.[return to text]  
> 2\. [Shooting stars really are beautiful](https://www.google.com/search?q=shooting+star+flower&tbm=isch). I wanted to buy more this year, but the real-life arboretum sale will not be taking place due to current events, so they will not get $100+ of my money (even more if I decide I need another tree). [return to text]  
>    
>    
>    
> 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale start dating, although there's still one little detail Crowley hasn't mentioned yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-level warning notes:** The word "fat" is used as a neutral-to-positive descriptor. Also, there is an interaction that might start off looking like it's going to involve homophobia, but I promise it will not. This story takes place in a magical world where nobody has a problem with our heroes being mlm. (Or maybe it could start off looking like it's going to involve fatphobia. It won't! I promise!)
> 
> I think we've got two more chapters of this max. So much for my original "probably only six chapters" estimate.

In all the time Crowley and Aziraphale had been work friends, Aziraphale had never stopped by at the end of the day. Crowley wouldn’t even necessarily know he’d left if he was too caught up in his work to notice IMs or texts.

There was a knock on the metal frame of his cube shortly before 5:30, and he turned, and Aziraphale was there.

“Seven-thirty or so, then?”

Crowley nodded vigorously. “Text you when I’m outside your place. And, and then we can. Go on our date.”

“Hmm.” Aziraphale looked like a non-disaster version of how Crowley felt. Pretty mouth curled into a huge smile, eyes bright, cheeks definitely pink, just a little bit, just enough to stop Crowley’s heart. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Oh,” Crowley replied. “G-good.”

Aziraphale laughed softly. “Quite.”

It seemed almost like he was lingering there, like he didn’t want to leave. Which was fine, because Crowley didn’t want him to leave.

“Well. I suppose I’ll be popping along, then...”

Crowley was very careful to not knock his chair aside as he got up. Two steps, and he was in Aziraphale’s arms, which were already opened to him, which wrapped tightly around him, as he slid his fingers into Aziraphale’s beautiful curls.

He kissed Aziraphale goodbye, lips parting just enough for a quiet gasp as Aziraphale kissed him back.

“Bye.” He grinned helplessly as soft lips nestled against his cheek. “Angel.”

“Until then, dearest,” Aziraphale murmured.

Crowley flopped back into his chair and grinned at nothing for a while. Ducks. He fucking loved those ducks.

* * *

Aziraphale lived in one of the upscale but interchangeable apartment complexes that kept going up on the west side, serving the demand of the local puppy mill of a software shop. Nice landscaping, if a little generic. There wasn’t a space for the Bentley outside the right entrance, but Crowley found one a little farther on, and the air was warm and sweet as he walked back. Mid-May and finally properly spring.[1] Beautiful night, as he texted a beautiful angel.

_His_ beautiful angel.

He could barely hit send on his _im outside ❤️_ , his hands had started shaking so hard. Today had absolutely happened. He would never have _imagined_ anything so bold as being let into the inner sanctum of the server room, so he really had kissed Aziraphale, and Aziraphale had kissed him _back_ , and would probably be kissing him soon again and how was Crowley going to survive this...

The door opened. A figure emerged, and it was as familiar as Crowley’s heartbeat. A voice rang out, as familiar as Crowley’s dreams.

Not dreaming now, though.

“I do hope we’re not walking to the restaurant.” Shining eyes laughed at him in the half-dark. “I’m not against a nice stroll, but as this one would be seven or eight miles...”

The next thing Crowley knew, Aziraphale’s hands were on his shoulders, and Aziraphale was going up on his toes — God, that was so adorable, did Aziraphale even realize that he was illegally adorable — to peck a quick kiss against Crowley’s lips.

“Hrn,” Crowley replied. “N-no. Bentley’s round the corner.” He was grinning like an idiot, he realized. Maybe something to do with that kiss. “Fucking hell, angel, you’re pretty. Wanna. Wanna just look at you. Don’t need anything else if I can just look at you.”

Aziraphale smiled brilliantly at him, trailing a hand along his cheek. “You absolute darling. Do you know, I would render your face in marble if I had the skill? You’re exquisite. Just divine.”

Then, only a little laughter left in his voice: “Oh dear. Perhaps I’m going a bit too fast...”

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut as he pulled off his sunglasses to shove into a pocket. Steamed right up, and when the hell had he last blushed hard enough for that? Been ages. Was the stupid warm spring air. And his stupid bright red face.

“Not too fast,” he said. “Just... wow.”

The hand returned, fingers tracing the exposed orbit of his brow. “Take your time, dear.” A gentle stroke of the skin beneath his eye. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Crowley felt Aziraphale shift against him, and then heavy arms curled around his neck. His own arms, he realized, were empty. Just hanging vaguely by his sides. Seemed kind of a waste, really.

Eyes still closed, he raised his arms. Let his hands find Aziraphale, the velvet of the waistcoat he’d changed into, and under that the curving love handles, wide and soft and very, very nice to rest his hands against. Yeah. Yeah, this was much better.

He opened his eyes.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, and this time it was his turn to blush, just a little. “Good Lord, why have you been hiding those? They’re _magnificent_.”

“I just, uh.” Crowley mumbled a bit. “Got used to wearing the glasses, I suppose.”

Aziraphale brushed delicate fingers against the back of his neck. “I’m so glad I was able to see them. Thank you.”

Crowley nodded for a while, then remembered what he was actually there for. “Fuck! Dinner. Right. Should, uh, should get going.”

He peeled himself away from Aziraphale only because it gave him an arm free to wrap around his waist, walking him back to the car. Then he let go only because he knew Aziraphale would never get his Italian food if they didn’t get in.

“I’m _not_ dreaming, right?” He jittered his car keys in one hand. “We’re really — we’re dating now.” His mouth was doing something on its own, some big stupid grin, but whatever. Fine. Let it. “You — you want to date _me_.”

Aziraphale’s reply was to take his empty hand and kiss it like Crowley was a fucking heroine in a historical novel.

“My darling, handsome boy. I would have asked you on a date weeks ago if I hadn’t been so distracted with all that nonsense at work.”

Crowley made a noise that definitely wasn’t a giggle. Not the giggling type, him. Even with _darling_ and _handsome_ bouncing around in his head. Even when a beautiful angel was leaning into him to kiss the edge of his jaw. He was an IT professional, after all. Much too dignified for giggles.

Not too dignified to fall all over himself to help Aziraphale out of the car once they got there, though. Perfect excuse to take his hand. Perfect excuse to look down into his smiling eyes, and then peck a kiss right off the end of his precious upturned nose, which got a noise out of Aziraphale that was definitely a giggle.

“Love your laugh.” He fought the urge to stumble it back, to run off like a scared rabbit. Maybe to just freeze on the spot. He could say things like this now, could say — “It’s so cute. Want to make you laugh every day s’long as I live, just to hear it.”

Aziraphale beamed at him. “ _Do_ you now.”

Before Crowley could answer, Aziraphale had taken his arm. Which meant he had an angel on his arm, which meant he was no good for coherent answers anyway.

Gorgeous spring night. Gorgeous boyfriend snuggled up to his side. Crowley was absolutely, one hundred percent in heaven, and not even the aggressively-Italian kitsch of the restaurant interior could change that.[2]

Aziraphale let him get settled in at their little table, gave him a whole couple of minutes to look over the wine list and the menu. “I can recommend the eggplant napoletana and the tagliatelle,” he said, innocent as anything. Crowley nodded.

As soon as Crowley’s menu closed, Aziraphale struck.

He put his hand on the table, palm up. Very very obviously inviting Crowley to hold it. Without any warning at _all_. And he smiled, so sweet and so open, that Crowley supposed he might as well have this be his last act on earth before he perished —

He put his hand on Aziraphale’s. Held it. Fat fingers curled against his, and somehow he was squeezing, just gently, even as he burst into flames and burned down to ashes right there at their table.

“I’m so glad you didn’t put your glasses back on,” Aziraphale said, sweet smile turning wicked. “You’d probably only steam them up again now.”

Crowley mumbled.

“And this way I get to lose myself in your eyes.”

Crowley lowered his head to the table with a groan.

“My poor darling.” The words sounded sincere enough, even if Aziraphale was viciously cradling Crowley’s hand in both of his, now. “Would you like me to stop? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Not subtle,” Crowley said to the table. “Not about — about who you like.”

“Not generally. But I can make an exception.”

It was harder than any human being should have to endure, looking up again. Seeing Aziraphale’s face, round and beautiful and totally serious, now, and not just turning to mush on the spot. Scraping enough brainpower together to answer. “Don’t want the exception. Want _you_ , how you are. Long as you mean it.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured, eyes shimmering. “I mean every word, dearest. I am... extraordinarily fond of you. Very, very much so.”

He caressed Crowley’s hand with unimaginable tenderness, because that was just the kind of bastard he was.

They went with a nice bottle of red. The tagliatelle was amazing, because of course it was if Aziraphale had recommended it. Aziraphale, meanwhile, ordered the chicken al mattone, which didn’t literally come under a brick, despite what Crowley insisted the menu description had led him to believe.

Crowley didn’t touch his food until Aziraphale had taken that first bite. Nothing else here would matter if he was disappointed in his meal, if he was unsatisfied...

Aziraphale’s gray-blue eyes shut for just a moment, though, and his head tipped back just a little. The familiar pleased hum curled out of his throat.

Stamp of approval. Crowley started in on his amazing tagliatelle, and when Aziraphale suddenly grinned and started speaking Italian at him, he wasn’t even entirely surprised.

“Sei bellissimo.”[3]

“Huh?”

Aziraphale giggled for the second time in one magical evening. “Oh, nothing. Nothing at all.” Then, grinning even wider: “Sono innamorato di te.”[4]

“Gonna start only taking you out to burger places.” Crowley tried to scowl. “Or supper clubs.[5] Boring English-only places. That way dating you won’t require bloody subtitles.”

The grin was quieter now, but not gone even with that drastic threat. “Oh, my treasure. We could eat cafeteria sandwiches forever, and I would still call you handsome in every language there is.”

“That’s — fine,” Crowley informed the surface of the table. “Now I’m gonna have to look up the Klingon for ‘fucking ridiculously heart-stoppingly gorgeous’.[6] But it’s fine.”

Their date ended with Crowley walking Aziraphale back to the entrance into his apartment building. Just holding hands, sweet and innocent. Nice.

Aziraphale didn’t invite him up for... the other stuff. The stuff Crowley was going to have to explain about not wanting to do, sooner or later. _Angel, you’re beautiful, angel, it’d be a fucking privilege to see every bit of you exactly as you are, but I’ve always been a pants-on kind of guy..._

Crowley did find both his hands taken in Aziraphale’s, though. Pulled closer, an invitation to hold that was so clear that even an apparent disaster like Crowley could pick up on it. Very much did pick up on it. Good job, him.

He slid his hands around Aziraphale’s belly. Traced all the pretty curves of him beneath layers of fussy clothes. Soft, giving just a little beneath the pressure of his fingers. Perfect, when he found a spot for his hands to rest.

“Following your very important rule, for the record,” Crowley said. “Extremely following.”

He let his hands move the rest of the way, around Aziraphale’s back, pulling him so close that they’d never find their way back apart, maybe. Aziraphale’s hands were already winding through his hair, delicate and graceful and sure, and his face was already tilted up, eyes closing.

Crowley kissed his angel goodnight.

Nothing that asked too much, that pushed too far. Tender and soft. Aziraphale was the soft one here, round and fat and built to be loved, to be cherished, to fill Crowley’s arms and never be let go. But Crowley could be soft sometimes too.

“Darling,” Aziraphale murmured eventually. He kissed Crowley again, just briefly, then laughed. “You’ve already more than earned yourself a second date, my dear. But we do have work in the morning.”

Crowley groaned. Work. Stupid and pointless, when there were angels to cuddle.

Angels probably needed their sleep, though. Snuggled up warm and comfy on a bed of clouds. Waking in the morning with curls all pillow-mashed, maybe yawning and stretching, maybe smiling at Crowley with eyes still full of sleep —

He kissed Aziraphale on one pudgy cheek. “Take you out again Saturday?”

“I’d like that very much.” Aziraphale pulled away, but slowly. Like he didn’t want the night to end, either, and Crowley almost kissed him again just for that. “Good night, my handsome boyfriend. I had a wonderful time.”

* * *

The next day at work was a busy one, full of meetings, which was probably good, since it kept Crowley from going over and pestering Aziraphale every five minutes. On the other hand, it was terrible, because Crowley couldn’t pester Aziraphale every five minutes.

Neither of them was interested in keeping it secret. They held hands waiting for the lunchtime elevator, and Crowley called him “angel” when they happened to pass in the hall.

“What, did you hit your head?”

“ _Dude_ ,” Greg hissed from his cube, but Luis didn’t take the hint.

“Like, I’m not judging, but —” A glance around before he went on in a quieter voice. “Aziraphale is the most terrifying person I have ever worked with, and you know where my last job was! I’d rather run into all my bosses from back there than have to have a conversation with him. And you’re seeing him?!”

“Yep,” Crowley said happily.

“Hit his head,” Luis grumbled, raising his voice again on the way back to his desk. “Just try to stay alive long enough to finish that Marketing ticket, would you? I don’t want to inherit it.”

* * *

Their second date was a walk around the park near Aziraphale’s apartment. When they’d wandered most of the paths at least twice, Crowley drove them over to Culver’s and bought them frozen custard. They sat on a bench and shared the custard, and conversation, and several mint-flavored kisses. The one at the end of the date was the sweetest one of all.

* * *

Their third date was Aziraphale’s treat, at a fancy steak place Crowley had never been to. It was fantastic, of course, and Aziraphale was beautiful, and Crowley was looking very much forward to their goodnight kiss as they walked up to Aziraphale’s door.

It was only a brief thing, though, and then Aziraphale drew back. Smiled as he gently stroked Crowley’s cheek.

“Would you like to come in, dearest?”

That was a question Crowley had been asked before, by other people he’d dated. And the answer had usually been no, because he’d known what they were really asking. Sometimes a coffee really was a coffee, and that was all right, but if they wanted something else...

“Was gonna call it a night.” Crowley reached for the hand still on his cheek, cradling it for a second. Kissing the soft palm, the sweet knuckles. “Thanks anyway, pretty angel.”

Aziraphale nodded, and his smile dimpled at one side. “A proper kiss, then, to see you off right.”

Not brief, this kiss. Slow and gentle, but it went on for long enough that Crowley couldn’t imagine why anyone would ever want anything more.

Then it was over, and Aziraphale was leaning his head on Crowley’s shoulder. “Você é muito lindo, e estou apaixonado por você.”[7]

“Wh.” Crowley swallowed his runaway heart. “What’s that one, Spanish? Today’s compliment is in Spanish?”

“Portuguese. Which, I’ll admit, I’ve never had the opportunity to learn, so my translation may be off.”

Aziraphale raised his head again. He looked into Crowley’s eyes, and something in _his_ eyes shivered, too huge for Crowley to understand.

“But my intentions are utterly sincere.”

Crowley held him close, brushing his lips against his pretty curls before letting him go. “Night, beautiful angel.”

Aziraphale smiled, then went inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Today, as I post this, it is April 9th. It snowed. [return to text]  
> 2\. I actually enjoy the kitsch, but I don't know whether Crowley would. Here are some examples: [1](https://www.google.com/maps/uv?hl=en&pb=!1s0x8807acf233b33357%3A0x647284ac14e67dc2!3m1!7e115!4shttps%3A%2F%2Flh5.googleusercontent.com%2Fp%2FAF1QipPkU46Gkr4yM97N6rPYOs5KHS3l9O2jZXP5vAJ6%3Dw213-h160-k-no!5slombardino%27s%20-%20Google%20Search!15sCAQ&imagekey=!1e10!2sAF1QipP1FLT38qJwE0WTwW-ORNXOGzVvjP1SY1TGWND4) [2](https://www.google.com/maps/uv?hl=en&pb=!1s0x8807acf233b33357%3A0x647284ac14e67dc2!3m1!7e115!4shttps%3A%2F%2Flh5.googleusercontent.com%2Fp%2FAF1QipPkU46Gkr4yM97N6rPYOs5KHS3l9O2jZXP5vAJ6%3Dw213-h160-k-no!5slombardino%27s%20-%20Google%20Search!15sCAQ&imagekey=!1e10!2sAF1QipNX59Rh5umklxPyO-6U1qz819QefagD4u3e19q8) [3](https://www.google.com/maps/uv?hl=en&pb=!1s0x8807acf233b33357%3A0x647284ac14e67dc2!3m1!7e115!4shttps%3A%2F%2Flh5.googleusercontent.com%2Fp%2FAF1QipPkU46Gkr4yM97N6rPYOs5KHS3l9O2jZXP5vAJ6%3Dw213-h160-k-no!5slombardino%27s%20-%20Google%20Search!15sCAQ&imagekey=!1e10!2sAF1QipPdc9UF0bmRbU2KgIEw-oV5bk00u03vKBK_zvD-)  
> Also, Crowley and Aziraphale did not approach from the direction that lets you see the terrifying mural on the exterior wall, but [here is the terrifying mural on the exterior wall](https://www.flickr.com/photos/society_in_decline/3948732908). I love it so much. [return to text]  
> 3\. "You're very handsome", more or less. [return to text]  
> 4\. "I'm in love with you", more or less. [return to text]  
> 5\. Supper clubs are this very midwest culture sort of thing which has mostly died out, by now, but it was popular 50+ years ago. I think the only truly original supper club in Madison closed a few years ago. We still have newer places that have the same sort of atmosphere and/or the same sort of food, though, and there are some restaurants that used to be supper clubs, switched ownership a few times, and these days are getting more back to those original roots. Basically it was both a place to eat and also a social club. You would go early and have a whole bunch of really fancy sugary alcoholic drinks, and hang out with all the other upwardly mobile white people (because let's be honest, a lot of "midwest" culture winds up being "white people" culture), and eat fish fry and stuff. And then drink some more after eating. Wisconsin culture amuses and delights me, so I love the entire concept. Plus delicious sugary alcoholic drinks. [return to text]  
> 6\. Reader, I _tried_. If anyone's worked out what that would be in Klingon (or if you could even say something like it in Klingon), I couldn't find it on the Googs. [return to text]  
> 7\. "You're very handsome and I'm in love with you", more or less. [return to text]  
> 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has a very important conversation with Aziraphale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter-level warning notes:**
> 
>   * The word "fat" is used as a neutral-to-positive descriptor.
>   * There is a reference to fatphobia, and to fetishization of fat people, but none of this actually happens in the text.
>   * Crowley has the Ace Talk with Aziraphale in this chapter. Without getting too into details, this conversation does not go 100% smoothly, but I am asking for your trust in me and in the Soft Zone. Nobody ends up in a situation they don't want to be in. Your author is still a sex-repulsed ace who doesn't want to write sexual content and also wants to write nothing except soft romantical fuzziness. But if you start feeling icky about their conversation, you can use ctrl-F (do Macs use ctrl? basically do a Find In Page) for the text "No more dark eyes". Everything has been okay for a couple paragraphs by then, and you should be able to pick up again fairly well! I love you all. Please avoid reading if you need to do so to feel safe.
> 

> 
> I am Googling for all my non-English translations of things. If they are inaccurate, well... assume Aziraphale is also Googling. It's mostly the "please" and "thank you" stuff that he would consider himself to actually know.

A couple of weeks later, Aziraphale asked again.

Crowley had come to pick him up for another date, and it had been unseasonably warm enough that Aziraphale had come out with rolled-up sleeves, and Crowley had about lost his stupid mind. Hadn’t even been able to get them to the Bentley first.

“Oh, you _darling_ ,” Aziraphale had laughed, as Crowley had swept up one hand and pressed a kiss to the knuckles. One on the back of his hand, then his wrist. Up the bare soft roundness of his forearm, and over the rolled cuff of his sleeve, not stopping even when it was fabric under his lips, up the rest of the arm and across the shoulder and then warm skin again, Aziraphale’s sweet fluttering throat —

Then Aziraphale wriggled away from him, laughing. “I do believe there will be time for that later, you awful thing.”

“Always have time to kiss you,” Crowley grinned. “Make the time. Worth it. God, you’re worth it.”

He kissed Aziraphale one more time, a gentle brush of lips, barely long enough for Aziraphale to sigh into the touch. Then they were off. He didn’t really think much about that brief conversation until the date was over, and the two of them were slowly ambling back up the walk to Aziraphale’s home, when the question surprised him again.

“Care to come in tonight?”

Aziraphale smiled at the little questioning noise Crowley made, combing tender fingers through his hair. “We should have time for anything you might have been thinking of earlier.”

“For — oh, you mean, uh —”

Nope. He hadn’t been thinking about that at all. He could see how Aziraphale might’ve thought he was, though. Such a pretty angel currently snuggled up in his arm, of course anyone else would want to... but Crowley didn’t, Crowley never had, and was damned sure he never would.

“N-no.” He could feel himself tensing, and hated it. Aziraphale wanted honesty in his relationships, and he deserved everything he wanted. “I don’t, I...”

Aziraphale drew away, a little. There was something blooming in his eyes that looked an awful lot like hurt.

And this wasn’t really a conversation for outside.

Crowley tightened his arm, very slowly pulling Aziraphale back toward him, ready to let go immediately if needed. There was no resistance, though. Aziraphale let himself be gathered up, both of Crowley’s arms around him, now, so much of him and all of him beautiful and perfect and _Crowley’s_ , if he wanted to be. If he’d still want to be.

He responded just like he always did, when Crowley kissed him. Kissed back sweet and tender, like there was nothing in the world he’d rather be doing.

“Wanna tell you something.” Crowley felt Aziraphale shift, but there wasn’t an answer, so he went on. “Come in to — to talk, if that’s okay. Then you decide what comes next.” He’d seen both scenarios play out, before. He’d survived the one every time so far, and he knew he would this time, too. But... fuck, he was really hoping for the other.

“Did you murder someone, Crowley?”

“Wh — no, I didn’t murder —”

The hurt in Aziraphale’s eyes was gone, or at least hiding behind the laughter, and that was good. Getting rid of it forever would be even better.

“If I’m not about to be some sort of _alibi_ , then yes.” Careful fingers brushed over his cheek. “Let’s go inside and talk.”

* * *

It would’ve made sense for Aziraphale’s apartment to be neat and fussy like he was, like he insisted on keeping the network. But it wasn’t.

The first impression Crowley took away, as they entered the living room, was books. Books everywhere. Filling the shelves that nearly covered every wall; scattered on every table; there were even some stacks on the floor, sort of out of the way in the corners, although it seemed like even those were starting to creep their way inwards toward the middle of the room.

A second look had Crowley correcting himself: the room wasn’t crammed with books. It was crammed with _multiple_ kinds of writing, including academic journals, what looked like old manuscripts and... sure, a bunch of old musical programs on the bookcase nearest the kitchen.

There were books on the kitchen table, too.

“I’d say something about not expecting company, but it would be a lie. I’m a little surprised I didn’t have you as my guest after our first date.” Aziraphale led him to the miraculously-clear sofa. “Something to drink...?”

When Crowley shook his head, Aziraphale sat down beside him. One pudgy hand rested on his leg, palm up. Crowley took it without hesitating.

“So,” Aziraphale murmured. “Apparently I’ll be deciding what comes next.”

Crowley nodded vaguely. Looked down at their hands, tangled on Aziraphale’s leg. He would kiss that leg if he could, kiss the warm naked skin of Aziraphale’s thigh. Not as a lead-up to anything else. Just because it was Aziraphale’s, and that made it precious.

“I’m...”

There were different ways he could start the conversation, and some of them tended to go better and some tended to go worse. None of them felt right now. “You said... said you were surprised...?”

Aziraphale leaned into Crowley, turning, a little, to run his free hand through Crowley’s hair. His body pressed close, round full belly and soft wide chest, and Crowley laid a hand against that belly with wonder and with love, because if it was part of Aziraphale then of course he loved it...

“I’m not a vain person, I don’t think, but I can see the obvious.” The fingers in Crowley’s hair took another trip through. “I can generally tell when a man is very, very attracted to me. Physically.”

Crowley felt himself go red.

“But,” Aziraphale continued, the hand in Crowley’s hair keeping up its rhythm, “that generally finds its expression in a... particular activity, let us say. More or less quickly, depending in part on the degree of attraction.”

Now the hand stopped. It withdrew from Crowley’s hair, and then _Aziraphale_ withdrew. Instead of leaning into Crowley, he was sitting upright again, both hands retrieved to fold neatly in his lap.

“We’ve been on seven dates and you’ve never so much as hinted at an interest in that activity. Now, perhaps you’re merely the old-fashioned type...”

A little smile touched Aziraphale’s face. Acknowledging how ridiculous that was, Crowley being in any way remotely old-fashioned. There was an edge to it that Crowley didn’t like, though.

“...or perhaps I am not so observant as I thought.”

Aziraphale’s eyes dimmed.

“Perhaps I’ve overlooked something obvious after all.”

Still not touching Crowley anymore. Looking at him, though, looking at him with those darkened eyes, mouth going firm, like he expected to hear —

“I don’t!” Crowley had taken the glasses off hours ago, so he could look Aziraphale right in the eyes, try to fucking _beam_ sincerity and love right into his brain. “I mean. An interest, I don’t — have one, in that, at all.” Breathing. Yes. Remembering to do that. “And — when I came in, it... wasn’t for that. Was to tell you I don’t want... that.”

Aziraphale’s mouth went hard as stone, and Crowley’s heart shattered against it. Not this way. He wanted so _fucking_ badly for it to not go this way.

“Perhaps I wasn’t clear, when we began this.” Aziraphale’s clever hands began rolling his sleeves back down, fastening the cuffs again with precise little motions. “If there’s anything you would do with a thinner partner which suddenly becomes _uninteresting_ with me —”

“With a thinner...” It smacked Crowley right between the eyes, then, and he couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid. He grabbed Aziraphale’s arms to hold him there at least long enough to clear this up. “Angel, no, I’m _asexual_!”

Aziraphale froze.

“Oh,” he said.

“Oh!” He pulled away from Crowley’s grip.

As soon as he was freed, he practically threw himself at Crowley, knocking him back a little on the sofa. His arms wound around Crowley’s neck and pulled them back together.

“Thank you for telling me, darling. I really did fear that I’d misjudged your character terribly.”

No more dark eyes, no more grim mouth. Aziraphale sparkled and beamed and when Crowley put tentative hands on his sides, he rested his head on Crowley’s shoulder and sighed.

The shards of Crowley’s heart were stirring, now. Beginning to stitch together with little tendrils of hope.

“You. You don’t mind?”

A muffled little laugh. “Crowley —”

“Because I’ve never. You know. And I don’t ever want to, I swear it’s not just you, but I really really don’t ever want to —”

Aziraphale’s mouth stopped his. Another of those slow, gentle kisses he seemed so good at, the ones that never pushed, never demanded.

“‘Repulsed’, would it be called?”

“Y-yeah.” Crowley would have done finger quotes if his hands hadn’t been much better occupied with cradling Aziraphale. “‘Sex-repulsed asexual’. I guess.”

Aziraphale wiggled like he was a goddamn puppy. A warm, fat, happy puppy, all but lying on top of Crowley on the sofa. “I’ve always tended more toward ‘indifferent’, myself.”

When Crowley stared, Aziraphale had the utter gall to giggle.

“You really aren’t missing anything, I don’t think. It can be a lovely intimate thing, but the process is so...” His adorable nose wrinkled. “So _messy_. So much more bother than this.”

His lips found Crowley’s again, slow and gentle and infinitely sweet.

“Angel,” Crowley mumbled, when he seemed to be able to talk again. “Very, very attracted to you, angel. Ph-physically.”

Aziraphale smiled smugly. He sat up, pulling Crowley with him, until their positions were reversed — he was half-sitting, half-lying on the sofa, and Crowley was snuggled up on top of him.

Crowley had no idea how good of a pillow his scrawny body made, but there was no way it was a tenth as comfortable as Aziraphale’s.

“I should never have doubted it,” Aziraphale said airily, hand brushing through Crowley’s hair once again. “I _can_ see the obvious, after all.”

Crowley hummed thoughtfully. A little sleepily, too. Aziraphale was so warm, so cozy, built just exactly right for Crowley to hold, and the idea that Crowley would ever want him any less for being fat was ridiculous.

A sudden urge struck him, and he lifted his head. He kissed the waistcoat over Aziraphale’s belly, twice. “Pretty,” he noted. Then he got comfortable again, not even complaining when Aziraphale shook with quiet laughter.

“You’re ridiculous, my treasure.” Aziraphale’s voice was almost painfully fond. “Je t’aime de tout mon coeur.”[1]

“Need bloody subtitles,” Crowley grumbled. “For all I know you’re making fun of me.”

Aziraphale laughed again, just a little. He didn’t say anything more, just silently stroking Crowley’s hair, until Crowley finally dragged himself away for the drive home.

He had new texts on his phone when he checked it.

_I am awfully sorry if I made you feel pressured. I did not handle my concerns as well as I should have._

_It’s probably long past time for us to discuss what sort of intimacy we would like from this relationship. To begin with — I enjoyed tonight. I dearly hope you will want to do it again._

Crowley grinned and hugged his phone against his chest for a couple seconds. Again. Practically fall asleep sprawled on top of his gorgeous angel, again. There was no universe in which he wouldn’t want to do that.

_basically the only thing stopping me from driving back over there to do it again is the fact that it’s past midnight and you need your sleep_

Aziraphale’s answer took a minute to pop in. _We should get an earlier start next time, then._

Crowley felt himself blushing, but that didn’t stop him. _maybe next time we just cuddle for the whole date_

_your place or mine, don’t care_

_we both own sofas_

That earned him a _You absolute darling. That’s the most splendid idea I’ve heard all week._

_night, pretty angel. gonna dream of holding you tonight._

_Good night, my very handsome Crowley. I shall dream of your arms._

Crowley laughed, a quick little disbelieving sound. His pretty angel was asexual too. They’d never have to do that thing, that other thing... and that left more time for the good stuff. Cuddling on the sofa. Kissing. Still very much dressed, although Aziraphale could strip down to his pants and Crowley would have absolutely no complaints. Only the one kind of thing was off the table. Adoring every cell of Aziraphale’s body, showing that adoration with all the heart-eyes and kisses and snuggles Aziraphale could stand, was still very much on.

In the morning, he had his usual set of early-rising texts waiting for him. Flirtations, photos of food and of interesting things along the commute. The first message made him simultaneously laugh and groan.

_I was right about the dreams. Unfortunately, it turns out they don’t hold a candle to the real thing._

* * *

“So, uh.” Crowley poked at the arm of Aziraphale’s sofa. It was still the only book-free surface in the room, although the part of the kitchen table he could see from here was clear now too. “You... really like reading.”

Aziraphale’s voice floated out from the kitchen doorway. “Well, yes. You can’t have failed to notice how they’ve made inroads on my cube as well. Although I started out bringing them to read during lunch, and, well...”

And now it was Aziraphale himself in the doorway, filling it up with smiles and light and all his perfect fat self. One steaming mug of tea in each hand. “For some reason, I haven’t done any lunch break reading in _months_.”

There was just enough room on the coffee table for him to set the mugs down. Just enough room in Crowley’s arms for him to set himself down, when Crowley held them open. Aziraphale took the wordless invitation with a quiet hum of delight, then a laugh as Crowley pulled him near enough to press his face to his soft neck. All buttoned up and proper, Aziraphale was, neat bow tie and all. But there was still skin above the collar, bare and inviting and warm.

“I'm a distraction,” Crowley mumbled happily.

“Distractions are what draw us away from the truly important things, dearest.” Aziraphale’s hand trailed up his arm, then down again. “You haven’t been a distraction for a long time now.”

Crowley wasn’t sure he could answer that in words. But he could kiss under Aziraphale’s jaw. Two kisses, one on each pretty chin.

“I love this,” Aziraphale said abruptly. “The way you hold me — I have dated men who obviously found my fatness distasteful, and I have dated a man who saw it as my only real charm. You are neither of those.” He stroked Crowley’s arm again. “You hold all of me. It’s not something I can explain to you, but... it is something I can feel.”

All of him. Yeah. All his wonderful fatness, sure, but his ridiculous fussiness too. And his bastard sense of humor, his brilliant gorgeous brain, his smiling eyes, his _everything_ , just everything that made up the person he was, right here in Crowley’s arms.

Crowley nuzzled into Aziraphale’s neck again, shifting those arms so one could rub Aziraphale’s soft back. The other drifted to the wide spread of his waist, curling around and holding tight. “All of you. Promise, angel. Even the stupid bow ties.”

“You like my bow ties,” Aziraphale said smugly. “You’ve said so yourself.”

“Said I liked them _on you_. Think they look good _on you_.” Crowley mock-glared over Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Look even better off you and in a dresser not being worn at all.”

He didn’t get a laugh like he was expecting to. Instead, Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Would you like me to remove it?”

Crowley pulled back, finding himself looking for something in Aziraphale’s pretty gray-blue eyes. He trusted him, obviously he trusted him, but the idea of him taking off even one little scrap of tartan-patterned cloth felt awfully close to...

The eyes looked back into his, as close to shy as Aziraphale had ever gotten. Soft hands took his and held them.

“Intimacy, darling. I think we need to understand each other on that front. Do you agree?”

Crowley’s answer came out in a croak. “No sex.”

“No, nor anything of that general nature. Is that accurate?”

Crowley nodded rapidly.

“Then we never will.” Aziraphale leaned forward, kissing him just at the corner of the mouth, lips closed and chaste and sweeter than anything in the known universe. “And if I ever get too close to something uncomfortable, please stop me at once.”

“O-okay.”

His face felt almost painfully hot, as he looked down at Aziraphale’s arms. He’d seen them naked twice and had loved them both times. There was a lot more of Aziraphale, under all his clothes, and Crowley already loved it without seeing it. He’d already long since been thinking about kissing the beautiful skin of Aziraphale’s thigh... of his shoulder... of his round glorious belly...

“Can I —”

He shifted a little closer to Aziraphale, one hand trembling on his chest. Light summer waistcoat, today. Blue shirt underneath. Under that — “Can I see you?”

The slightest teasing edge to Aziraphale’s smile. “Just see?”

Crowley mumbled through a shrug.

The smile was nothing but gentle, now, as Aziraphale put his hand over Crowley’s. Then he reached up to his neck, and undid the bow tie, the ends falling loose under clever round fingers.

“Fuck,” Crowley said, and hid his boiling face. “I swear I didn’t used to be this much of a mess.”

He could feel Aziraphale moving, doing something, although he refused to look just yet. Heard him laugh quietly. “I’m not sure I can believe that. I know you fairly well by now, and I can say with confidence that ‘a mess’ is rather high on the list of words I’d choose to describe you.”

“Okay, now hold on a —”

Whoops. He’d gone and opened his eyes, and now he could see what Aziraphale had been doing. The first three buttons of his shirt were all undone, the collar was wide open and Crowley could see _throat_ , and soft rounded chest, pale hair scattered across even paler skin above the top of a crisp white undershirt.

“Hhh,” he remarked. A hissing-out of breath, the closest he could get to coherence.

Aziraphale’s cheeks went pink, nothing compared to Crowley’s best tomato impression, but something delicate and adorable. “Goodness. The way you _look_ at me. As though I were some sort of marvel.”

“Because you are,” Crowley replied before he could help it.

Aziraphale’s blush turned even more adorable. “O-oh.”

His hands paused a moment before undoing the waistcoat. He pulled it off, folding it up with careful precision before setting it aside, and Crowley wanted to kiss him for being so ridiculous.

Aziraphale’s belly looked so soft, without the extra layer of cardigan or sweater vest or waistcoat. Crowley could see where it pressed a little more tightly against his shirt, and where it dipped back in again. All sorts of pretty little rounded shapes. Pretty big rounded shapes. Whatever. Pretty. Whatever Aziraphale looked like, he’d still be pretty.

Which he suddenly realized he’d die if he didn’t say it aloud. “You’re beautiful. Be a brain in a jar and you’d still be beautiful. Just, just the most beautiful jar in the world.”

 _“Crowley_ ,” Aziraphale breathed. His eyes sparkled. “Rydych yn hardd.”[2]

“Is that bloody _Welsh_...”

“Every language there is, love. I’ve been researching.”

Crowley’s heartbeat took a quick breather. “‘Love’.”

He could see the moment Aziraphale realized what he’d said, because his eyes widened for a second. He didn’t waver, though. Just kept looking at Crowley, gorgeous and sparkling and not blushing at all anymore.

“Yes. Love.” His hands lay quiet in his lap. “I love you, Crowley. Or, I suppose, rwy’n dy garu di.”[3]

Then, mouth quirking up a little, “I’ve been researching that, too.”

Crowley’s heart was apparently still on break, which was probably bad for his long-term survival. Still, he figured it’d start beating again eventually. And he had enough to think about right now without it. “You’ve. You’ve been saying it in, in Italian and Spanish and things, haven’t you.”

The mouth quirked up a little more.

“You love me. You — really? You’re sure?” He leaned closer, like he might see the truth in Aziraphale’s eyes. Both hands on Aziraphale’s chest, and his belly was so soft and warm against Crowley’s own skinny body that it almost sent his brain out to join his heart. “Because if you don’t that’s fine, but —”

Nope, there it was. The truth, right there in Aziraphale’s eyes. And in his arms, too, as they gathered Crowley up.

“Love you _so much_ , angel,” he managed. Then his heart returned to slam against his ribs, but it didn’t matter because Aziraphale was kissing him, fat and perfect and scandalously close to naked as he held Crowley close.

The kissing turned into cuddling, Crowley sprawled against Aziraphale just like the last time they’d been here. This time, though, his angel’s shirt was unbuttoned, only the thin cotton undershirt hiding him from the world. Crowley flattened one palm against it, holding as much of Aziraphale’s precious belly as his fingers could reach, and occasionally reminded Aziraphale that he loved him. In between Aziraphale occasionally telling him the same thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. "I love you with all my heart", more or less. [return to text]  
> 2\. "You're beautiful/handsome", more or less. [return to text]  
> 3\. "I love you", more or less. [return to text]  
> 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for the yearly IT department outing to ride on a boat around the lake! Then back to Aziraphale's for a take-out dinner. At least that's the plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-level warning notes:** The word "fat" is used as a neutral-to-positive descriptor.
> 
> One more chapter after this one! Then the boys will have their happy ending (spoiler alert, this story will have a happy ending) and I can start thinking about which of my WIP AUs to begin posting next. I actually threw a post up [on my Tumblr](https://ineffablefool.tumblr.com/post/616203359602475008/who-would-like-to-share-their-thoughts-on-which-au) with some info about all three of them, for the curious! Thoughts welcome. Your interest is my fuel (along with my own innate softness and the occasional healthy burst of spite).

“Oh, now I’m _sure_ this was a mistake.”

Crowley looked back. Aziraphale’s face was pinched with distrust as he followed along behind, and he actually hesitated a moment before stepping off the ramp. He didn’t stumble like a couple of the others had, but the fact didn’t seem to comfort him.

“I’ve got two perfectly good feet, Crowley. That means I should be on _land_.” The dock swayed, and Aziraphale barely even shifted, but Crowley still grabbed his hand, absolutely just in case he needed stabilizing. “We should be leaving the lakes for the fish.”

“And the ducks,” Crowley added. That earned him a little squeeze and a quiet snort of laughter.

Ramona was just up ahead of Crowley, and she glanced at the two of them as she was boarding. “You know what gets Mike on these things, right? The drink tickets.”

“...fair,” Aziraphale replied.

It took longer than it maybe should’ve for thirty supposedly intelligent professionals to be herded onto a single motor yacht, but eventually they were all aboard, and the annual IT department cruise of Lake Mendota could officially begin.[1] The dulcet melodies of “Margaritaville” started from the speakers as they got underway.

“It is a lovely day for it, at least.”

Crowley had claimed a seat on the lower deck, right up on the bow, on a padded bench along the gunwhale that was maybe supposed to fit three people. It probably still would’ve even with one of the people being Aziraphale, seeing as the second person was both scrawny and uninterested in maintaining anything resembling personal space. But people still mostly avoided the Avenging Angel.

More of him for Crowley. More of him in the shorts Crowley still couldn’t believe he owned, and the short-sleeved button-up shirt that should have been illegal to sell to him, with what it did to Crowley, seeing him walking around with bare arms and no bow tie at _all_. And wearing a spare pair of Crowley’s sunglasses, which Crowley was almost certain _was_ illegal, because it was murder. First-degree intentional homicide.[2] Whatever. Crowley was dead now either way.

They’d both agreed that more than the tiniest workplace PDA was tacky, but this wasn’t their workplace. Technically. So Crowley let his head loll onto Aziraphale’s shoulder, mumbling his answer close to Aziraphale’s ear. “Lovely day. You’re lovelier.”

“Let’s not start a competition on that front.” Aziraphale patted Crowley’s hand. “You would win, obviously, with those eyes. But we’d be thrown overboard long before I could finish listing all your other charms.”

Then he laughed, just a quiet little sound, as Crowley sputtered, jumped to his feet, and tried very hard to pretend like he was supposed to be this color.

“Drink tickets! Gonna. Um. Think I saw Karen back there, I’ll just...”

“Yes, dear.”

“Bastard.”

Aziraphale smirked. “Yes, dear.”

Crowley made eye contact with as few teammates as possible on his way aft and up the stairs, into the shaded enclosure of the upper deck. Karen was at a table just behind the crew cabin.

“Oh no, Anthony! Did you get sunburned already?”

“I — nuh — not exactly —”

“Well, I’ve got sunscreen here in my purse.”

She was digging through for it already, and Crowley raised both hands in protest. “No, it’s fine —”

Debbie nodded sagely. “It’s that red hair, I’ll bet,” she said. “My son had a girlfriend who was a redhead, and she just about burned if she so much as looked at a sunny day.”

“Not a sunburn. I’ll be fine, I just.” He gestured vaguely at the stack of paper by Karen’s elbow. “Can I have the drink tickets for me and Aziraphale?”

“Oh, sure!”

Debbie kept looking at him as Karen counted out four slips of paper. “Gee, you might want to sit in the shade for a while. I think you’ve gotten even redder than when you came up.”

“‘S fine,” he wheezed, accepting his prize and not quite running back to the bow.

Aziraphale still had their bench to himself. The August sun filtered down, bright despite a thin cloud cover, turning him into something radiant, shining and soft and every bit the ethereal creature Crowley liked to say he was. An angel whose round calves and round forearms and round _everything_ glowed in the light. Damn good thing Crowley had first seen that shocking outfit of his back at the office, because if he’d had to get used to it here on the water, he’d absolutely have collapsed overboard by now. Sunk right to the bottom, and his ghost could terrorize future generations of tour boats.

“Hello,” Aziraphale said, as Crowley plopped down next to him. “Did you see the turtle we passed a few minutes ago? It seemed rather cross at the way we were outpacing it.”

Crowley shook his head. “Laser-focused on the mission, I was. Which was a success, incidentally. Two free drinks apiece.”

“Ah! The returning hero. Well done.”

Crowley held out Aziraphale’s tickets, and Aziraphale plucked them away, then replaced them with his hand. Wound his fingers through Crowley’s and lowered their hands to his own soft thigh.

Just a little PDA. Not the snuggles Crowley was currently saving up to unleash tonight, when he and Aziraphale would both head back to Aziraphale’s for a takeout Thai dinner. None of the kisses Crowley wanted to leave all over Aziraphale’s perfect face, his adorable nose, his thoughtful forehead.

Maybe Aziraphale wanted to gaze into Crowley’s apparently nice-looking eyes, or run his hand through Crowley’s hair like he seemed to do any time he had half a chance. If so, he was restraining himself, too.

They’d been dating three months, now, and Aziraphale had absolutely gotten prettier every single day during that time. Smarter and more fun to be around, too, which shouldn’t have been possible, but if anyone could manage, it was the angel. Crowley’s angel.

Crowley’s angel, who kept stopping Crowley’s heart with how fucking cute he looked in those sunglasses. Even cuter, when he propped them up on his halo of curls to smile at him. “And how do we use the tickets, then?”

“Buh,” Crowley replied.

“Oh, someone comes by for orders.”

Some of the leadership team had taken the bench on the other side of the deck — the head of the PMO, and Shelly, the veep of IT, who’d apparently overhead Aziraphale’s question.

“Or you can go downstairs and there’s a bar, but that’s too much work.” She leaned back against the railing, stretching out spidery legs — she was as tall as Crowley, even taller in heels — and grinning. “I swear I always spill half the damn thing getting back up here.”

“The crew has their sea legs, I suppose.” Aziraphale frowned. “Or lake legs.”

Shelly laughed at that. Then suddenly someone else was talking about the last year’s trip, and Nithin from the PMO chimed in, and Aziraphale asked a question which got an answer that wasn’t in a tone of abject fear.

Crowley half-listened, mostly watching the shore slide by in the distance, and the water roll closer up. Every few minutes the music cut out for the captain to announce some point of interest or other. Aziraphale was soft and beautiful beside him, and people were finally starting to appreciate how sparkling and clever and not actually scary at all he was, and Crowley couldn’t be happier. Especially once one of the crew members came up for drink orders.

“There anything with blue curaçao in it...?” Crowley looked over at the menu Aziraphale was holding. “Yeah. The Hawaii thing, please.”

Aziraphale scoffed. “Good Lord, you’re practically drinking an entire tropical fruit stand at that point.”

“Nothing wrong with tropical fruit. Pineapples. Bananas.” He shrugged elaborately. “I like bananas. Bananas are good.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale responded dryly. But he leaned on Crowley, just a little bit, once he’d passed the menu on. Put one arm over the railing and made a happy sound when Crowley slouched back into it.

Eventually both of Crowley’s tickets got turned into ridiculous fruity concoctions, and Aziraphale’s into a decent Cabernet, and everyone who happened to wander up to the deck seemed to be having a pretty good time. Wasn’t necessarily just the decent amounts of alcohol, either. Something about the sun and the wind out here felt like a deep-clean of Crowley’s brain. A little tiring, but exhilarating.

“I love you,” he said, as the boat swung north on its final leg back to shore. Just loud enough for Aziraphale to hear over everything else.

Aziraphale didn’t say anything in response. But his lips curved in a smile, cheeks touched with color that his fussy applications of sunscreen could never hope to prevent.

* * *

Crowley drove them both back to Aziraphale’s in near-silence. Good silence. His brain still felt light and floaty, and not from the alcohol, because he hadn’t made the dubious decision of buying more drinks after the free ones, like a few people. Some of whom had then gone on to hit the nearest bar once they made landfall. Not exactly Crowley’s scene, especially with tomorrow being a work day.

His brain felt floaty, and Aziraphale had smiled at him even softer than usual, combing fingers through his hair while they were still walking back to the car. “You’re a windswept mess, love.” A delighted giggle as he’d mussed it worse on purpose, ignoring Crowley’s token protests. “A handsome, dashing, windswept, darling mess.”

“Wh — well, what about you, then?” Crowley flicked at his collar. “No bow tie. Can see your _knees_. Call me a mess, when you’re so indecent I’m surprised nobody _fainted_ that whole time...”

Aziraphale had stopped them where they were, halfway across the parking lot. Crowley expected a smirk, a flirtatious little eyebrow raise, but instead he’d found Aziraphale’s arms thrown around his chest, pudgy cheek pressed to his shoulder. The smile in his voice had been a couple of light-years wide. “If anyone is fainting, it will be you, you wonderful obvious man.”

“‘M not obvious —”

“Oh really.” He’d leaned back just enough to look up at Crowley. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

Crowley grinned, feeling his heart thud a little harder, breath coming a little faster at the promise of a kiss from his angel, his fat perfect beautiful angel —

_That_ had gotten the smirk.

Crowley probably would have groaned, and complained about being fooled, hoodwinked by cruel angelic trickery. Then his lips were busy, and he’d decided it didn’t really matter after all.

Now he was pulling in to Aziraphale’s apartment complex, turning off the Bentley, hurrying out and to Aziraphale’s side. Helping him out of the car because obviously Aziraphale was a delicate wilting flower, and not at all because he wanted the excuse to take his hand, and kiss it, kiss up his wrist, up his arm.

“Eyugh,” he said, sticking out his tongue. “You taste like sunscreen.”

Aziraphale pushed the door closed. “That will teach you to wait until I’ve washed up.”

“No it won’t.”

“No, I didn’t think it would.”

Their clasped hands swung between them up the sidewalk, and in through the entranceway, and up to Aziraphale’s door. Crowley let go long enough for the way to be unlocked before him.

Then he was on Aziraphale as soon as they were both inside. Pounced on him, hands on his waist, pulling him close and kissing him on the cheek. “Yuck.” Right between the eyes next. “Ugh.” The side of his jaw, softened beautifully by all that comfortable fatness, exactly like it had been the first day Crowley had seen him and instantly lost his heart. “Blech. Sunscreen. Blech.”

“Oh, you’re _impossible_ ,” Aziraphale giggled, “do give me _five minutes_ and then you may kiss me all you like.”

Crowley got in one last peck, right on the lips, before Aziraphale wiggled out of his grasp and disappeared down the hall.

He’d slathered on a little of the stuff too, at Aziraphale’s insistence. Quick enough to clean up at the kitchen sink, drying off with the towel that hung on the oven door. Then he flopped onto the sofa, scrolling his phone and stifling the occasional yawn, until he heard heavy footsteps coming back toward him.

“Took at least six minutes.” Crowley informed the room. “I better get extra kisses.”

“You poor thing,” Aziraphale said, and then there he was. Face freshly scrubbed, cheeks plump and pink and precious. Curls damp around his forehead, darkened to a slightly less pale shade of blond. Arms probably scrubbed too. Still as naked as they’d been on the boat.

“I managed to splash myself a bit,” Aziraphale added, sitting down like everything was normal and — and bloody tickety-boo. “Which made me realize that you don’t have a change of clothing for if you found yourself in the same situation. Terribly sorry about that. You could borrow something of mine, of course, but it wouldn’t fit you at all...”

Crowley found his voluntary muscle control again. “Fits you, though.” He wriggled closer, feeling Aziraphale’s arm go around his back, watching Aziraphale’s smile start to widen as he rested his head on a round shoulder. “Really well. Really really well. Fuck. Didn’t even know you owned a t-shirt.”

“I don’t clean my flat in _good_ clothes, Crowley.”

Which was obviously a nonsense statement, because after all these months of seeing Aziraphale in waistcoats and sweater vests and the very occasional buttoned shirt which _wasn’t_ long-sleeved — even when he occasionally unbuttoned his shirt for undershirt sofa snuggles, the thing was still there — after all that, the sight of him in just an ordinary white t-shirt made Crowley glad he was sitting down.

“This is good.” He spread his hand over the soft curve of belly, outlined perfectly by the stretch of the fabric. “Just — good. Yes.”

Aziraphale hummed quietly. “It is, isn’t it.” Then, covering Crowley’s hand with his own, pinning it gently in place: “I’m not merely referring to the clothing. Or what it covers, for that matter.”

A pause. Crowley raised his head, looking into Aziraphale’s eyes. Not laughing or smug or anything like that now. Clear and calm and gorgeous.

“ _We’re_ good. Yeah? Us.”

The eyes crinkled in a tender smile. “I don’t think there’s any question of that.”

Aziraphale pulled him even closer, both arms around him now. Kissed him once, and then again but a little longer, and then a third time, the briefest of pecks, before letting out a deep sigh.

“Tired, angel?” It was supposed to come out teasing. He’d poke at Aziraphale a little bit, then Aziraphale would poke back at him. They’d do that for a while until someone decided he’d rather do more kissing instead. Or just quiet snuggling. Also a very good choice.

But Crowley found himself asking the question gently. Smoothing Aziraphale’s hair back from his temples, from the warm skin there. About to ask it again when the answer came.

“I shouldn’t be. It’s barely six o’clock. But...” Aziraphale frowned. “I’m rather worn out all of a sudden, actually.”

Crowley fought a yawn. “Should — should probably do dinner another evening. Yeah? Take you someplace nice.”

“I suppose.”

One more pass of his hand through Aziraphale’s hair, then, and a kiss left on his forehead. “See myself out so you can get your nap. I’ll be okay long enough to drive home, so —”

He started to get up, but Aziraphale just clung tighter. “Do you actually _want_ to go, darling?”

Crowley looked at him. The most beautiful person he’d ever met, all snuggly and soft, asking him a question like that. As though the answer wasn’t obvious. As though Crowley could possibly answer that with a yes.

“Want to curl up with you and sleep for a week,” he said, and Aziraphale’s smile was so radiant that Crowley’s heart fried instantly to a crisp.

He found his hand taken, found himself pulled to his feet. Aziraphale was leading him down the short hallway of his apartment. Off to the right was the bathroom, and that was fine, Crowley had certainly gone in there more than once in all the times he’d visited over the last months. But at the end of the hall...

Aziraphale stopped just outside the open door. Crowley could see bookcases beyond it, and books piled up in front of the bookcases, and a dresser underneath yet more of the things. And a bed.

Aziraphale’s bed.

Aziraphale’s bed, which looked... actually really good, from where Crowley was standing. Comfy. Piled with pillows, covered in a fluffy quilt. Probably really soft.

“I don’t have pyjamas,” he blurted, then felt his face go hot. “I mean — obviously you know that, but — I dunno, you probably don’t want boat clothes in your bed —”

Aziraphale looked up at him.

“— and — and I really couldn’t borrow something of yours, not nearly fat enough to fit it, am I, get lost in it, you’d never find me again —”

The corner of Aziraphale’s mouth ticked up, just a little.

“— but...” Crowley felt his throat tighten against anything more than an embarrassed mutter. “I still want to curl up with you for a week.”

When Aziraphale walked into the bedroom, Crowley followed. Watched him sit on the edge of the bed, then swing his legs up on top of the fluffy quilt. Still in the shorts he’d been wearing on the boat. The ones that showed his adorable pudgy knees.

“I love you so much, dearest,” he said, and patted the bed by his side. “Please join me.”

Aziraphale’s bed was, as it turned out, even softer than Crowley had imagined. Nothing would ever measure up to Aziraphale himself, though. When Crowley drifted off, it was with his head on his angel’s chest; his arm was flung around Aziraphale’s round belly, hand tucked beneath the hem of his shirt to rest against warm skin.

They woke just in time to still be able to order in some Thai. Ate it together at Aziraphale’s kitchen table, laughing and talking, and still rumpled from sleep. Ridiculously domestic. Crowley’s heart hurt from how beautiful it all was.

“W —”

He stopped. Looked down at his pad panang for a second, then back up at Aziraphale. “Would you like to come by mine Saturday evening? Think it’s been your place the last few times. Can try that new Peruvian restaurant you’ve been talking about, not leave you with any of the clean-up.”

“Darling.” Aziraphale smiled. “Of course.”

“And you could, um.” Crowley nudged a bit of cauliflower with his fork. “Could bring pyjamas. If you wanted.”

When he dared to look up again, Aziraphale’s eyes were practically sparkling. “ _Darling_ ,” he said again. “Yes. Oh, yes.”

There were lots of kisses when it was time to go home. Kisses, and three words whispered in the voice of an angel, which Crowley wasted no time in whispering right back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. We probably aren't going to be able to do [this](https://www.bettyloucruises.com/) this year. Sad. (The video includes, starting at about 0:38, a view of the foredeck I'm writing about here. I always sit on that same bench where the people are every year.) [return to text]  
> 2\. Per my lawyer housemate, you technically can't be charged with murder in Wisconsin. It's "intentional homicide" instead. [return to text]  
> 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few little vignettes before we leave these two doofuses to whatever ineffability might come their way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-level warning notes:** The word "fat" is used as a neutral-to-positive descriptor.

The tree was fake, because Crowley hated having a real one slowly die in front of him, but it was a good fake. Tall, broad, very convincingly spruce-y. He’d paid several hundred dollars less than it was supposed to have cost on a very lucky clearance sale find, and he didn’t bother to drag it out every year, but it was a pretty enough thing to look at when he did.

Apparently he was dragging it out every year from now on so Aziraphale could come over and fuss with it. Which was fine.

“Think you’ve got enough things up there?” He picked up one of the few ornaments still not deployed, a wooden bird, painted in rich vintage colors and trimmed in gold. “Damn thing’s about to collapse under its own weight.”

Aziraphale didn’t answer at first — too busy finding a single square centimeter of unused branch to hang a little wooden sleigh from. Then he looked over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. “I do hope that isn’t some kind of _pointed remark_.”

His disapproving expression didn’t even make it to the end of the sentence before slipping into one of his trademarked bastardy grins. Crowley snorted laughter, setting the bird back down, picking his way over there past all the empty boxes on the floor. Threw his arms around Aziraphale from behind. Filled both his hands with Aziraphale’s perfect belly, leaning comfortably against his back. “Tree’s beautiful. Add a hundred ornaments and it’ll still be beautiful. Take away a hundred. Whatever. It’ll always be beautiful.” He nuzzled into Aziraphale’s curls. “There, that’s my pointed remark.”

“And your point is taken.” Aziraphale tilted his head back onto Crowley’s shoulder. “Also, I suppose I may have gone a bit overboard, but I’m _so_ excited to be able to get my Christmas things out of storage. My flat barely has room for a bit of tinsel.”

By this point, Crowley’s hands had maybe started to wander a little, on account of there being so much Aziraphale for them to hold. Couldn’t very well pay attention to this bit and ignore that one over there. What if his love handles got jealous? What if the top of his belly felt left out? Tragic. Unconscionable. The fact that Crowley loved him utterly and completely barely even figured into it.

“Beloved.” Aziraphale didn’t sound too put out. “You do realize I’m trying to work, yes?”

“Mneh.”

“And if you would only be so kind as to let go of me for a few minutes...”

This time the protesting noise Crowley made didn’t come anywhere close to a word.

“...then we could talk about the potential for other metaphors.”

Crowley nuzzled Aziraphale’s hair again. “Oh yeah?”

“Perhaps you’d like to compare me to a gift,” Aziraphale went on, and the smug amusement in his voice really should have been a warning. “One for you to unwrap.”

“Unwr — fucking _hell_ , angel —”

And then Aziraphale was laughing, pretty belly shaking under Crowley’s hands, and Crowley’s face was so hot he was surprised it wasn’t burning the back of Aziraphale’s neck. Soft hands patted his gently. “Oh, you are terribly fun to tease, darling. Perhaps that’s why I love you so.”

“Can’t for the _life_ of me figure why I love _you_ ,” Crowley grumbled. “Bastard.”

He wound his arms just a little tighter around Aziraphale’s waist. “Don’t know where you learned that kind of horrible flirting. What, was there some kind of class?”

Aziraphale didn’t joke back at that. Instead he hummed thoughtfully, still stroking Crowley’s hands on top of his belly. “I’ve learned to be somewhat... direct, when I find myself interested in a man. It tends to be more efficient, and certainly more honest.”

A tap against Crowley’s hand. “And I am being honest, darling. I’ve been thinking about falling asleep in your arms with nothing between us all afternoon.”

Crowley definitely didn’t nearly choke on his own tongue at that. He was a mature, intelligent adult who’d already seen his gorgeous boyfriend in nothing but his pants three whole times already. Obviously the idea of being blessed with that privilege again was no big deal. Obviously.

“I’ve taken it even more... _risque_... in the past, when I had a partner who liked that sort of thing. Part of, well, you know.”

Crowley nodded. “All that other stuff.”

“Hmm.”

Aziraphale started to turn, and Crowley loosened his arms. Then the soft belly was pressed up against him, and Aziraphale was draping soft arms around his neck. Giving him a soft little grin. “You turn such lovely colors when I flirt with you. ‘That other stuff’ simply doesn’t compare.”

Crowley felt his tomato impression coming on, which made Aziraphale giggle. Which made him too gorgeous to resist kissing. So Crowley kissed him.

They finished the tree together, including a brief discussion on which of Aziraphale’s several tree toppers to use.

“Oh, but she’s such a dear.” Aziraphale held up the box one more time. The little porcelain angel inside was pale and slender, with long ringlets and a quiet smile. Its dress was apparently handmade. Probably’d been expensive.

Crowley took it from him, very gently, and put it back down again. “Only one angel for me. And he’s everything.”

For two whole seconds, Aziraphale didn’t have an answer to that. 

Then he said “Ah,” and then he said " _Crowley_ ,” and then he handed Crowley the star one instead.

Crowley set the star into place with steady hands. It was beautiful. The tree was beautiful. Aziraphale was beautiful.

“Perfect,” he said. “Not just talking about the tree.”

Aziraphale’s round cheeks turned Crowley’s favorite shade of pink.

* * *

Crowley woke up cold.

He owned plenty of blankets, and his furnace worked just fine. Combine the two, and he’d sleep through a night like tonight, no problem. It wasn’t even supposed to get that bad. Still positive numbers[1] and everything. Not like a few nights mid-January when it’d thumbed its nose at the negative forties.

The problem was that his “plenty of blankets” seemed to have migrated.

“No,” Aziraphale said when Crowley shook him. Perfectly clear, other than being muffled in the snuggly cocoon of what were supposed to be their shared covers. He burrowed even deeper, nothing showing beyond the tiniest fluff of hair.

Crowley gave him another gentle shake. “Wake up, you little thief. Gonna die out here, and then who will cuddle you?”

“Hrnmm,” Aziraphale noted, and then he squeezed into a fluffy ball before rolling over into actual wakefulness. “Darling. What time is it?”

Crowley frowned at him in the early morning light, tugging on a stolen fold of blanket. “It is ‘freeze your boyfriend to death’ o’clock, angel. My least favorite time.”

“Perhaps I simply require the available bedding in order to be properly covered.” Aziraphale’s voice was pert, downright snippy, even. But his wicked little grin flashed in the dim. He shifted around, freeing up the edge of everything so Crowley could yank it back over again. “I’m rather large, if you hadn’t noticed.”

Crowley patted things back into place, flopped back down onto his pillow, then eeled over and wrapped his half-frozen limbs around Aziraphale’s deliciously toasty bulk.

“Oh _good_ Lord —”

“Noticed. Very large. Very fat.” He tucked his face into Aziraphale’s shoulder, pressing a kiss to the little roll that formed where it joined his neck. “Got enough blankets for the both of us when you’re awake, though, so I’m pretty sure you just turn into a thief when you’re asleep.”

“You’re made of _ice_ ,” Aziraphale moaned.

Crowley kissed the pretty little shoulder roll again. Made a happy sound when Aziraphale pulled him into his arms.

“Steal them every night, if you want.” He felt his own lip quiver. “Move in with me.”

Aziraphale’s arms pulled him even closer. “We can be eaten by your vicious roses together.”

They laughed together for way too long, and then Aziraphale kissed him and told him he loved him.

“Go to sleep, angel.” Crowley found a comfortable spot for his head on Aziraphale’s chest. “We’ll see how much I love you the next time I wake up a human ice cube.”

“Quite a lot, I’d wager.”

Crowley grinned. “Yeah. Yeah, you’ve got me there.”

* * *

“Oh, wow. Congrats on the new cubemates, I guess.”

“Sorry — I’m not late for our one-on-one, am I —”

Crowley started to check his calendar, but Ben was already shaking his head. “We’ve still got a few minutes. I was just about to get some coffee when I noticed you had company.”

Crowley squinted at the plastic ducks scattered through his cube. “Yeah. Little jerks refuse to help me work, too. Terrible teammates.”

“Well, good luck with that. I can always support your complaint to HR if they keep giving you trouble.”

The duck minions sure didn’t have any fear of hitting his cube, anyway — of course, maybe by now they’d be willing to do Aziraphale’s, too, but Crowley hadn’t asked. That was last year. Be uncreative to do it again this year.

He’d very carefully searched for any little angel or sunglasses duckies hidden away, but hadn’t found any. Also, Aziraphale’s reaction to the mess had been to stop dead, looking shocked, then burst into laughter and say something mysterious about impeccable timing. So probably it hadn’t been him.

When Aziraphale came by again just after 5:00, Crowley was already finishing up for the day. Arranging for earlier working hours was kind of terrible, because it meant waking up earlier. On the other hand, it was great, because it meant waking up next to Aziraphale. Who’d asked to have _his_ hours moved a little later, so they met in the middle — although he didn’t seem to be able to actually sleep in, which was why a lot of mornings, Crowley would open his eyes to see his angel completely engrossed in yet another book.

“Hello,” his angel said now. Crowley mumbled happily when a plump hand ran through his hair. “I’m ready to go home whenever you are.”

Home. Their home. Yeah.

They talked about ordinary stuff on the way. Aziraphale’s attempts to train his newly-hired backup, Crowley’s mulch-buying plans. Their dinner plans for the weekend. Neither of them mentioned the other plan on the books — the day they both had off in a couple of weeks, and the reservations for the Tornado Room, and the suspiciously wine-bottle-shaped something that had appeared at the back of a basement shelf sometime in the last month or so, which Crowley didn’t think he was supposed to have noticed. 

A whole fucking wonderful year together, two weeks from Friday. Yeah, it didn’t come up in the conversation, but Crowley was still thinking about it. Probably Aziraphale was thinking about it too. Would explain the faint color in his cheeks. The way he kept _looking_ at Crowley, was looking every time Crowley happened to glance over at him.

“Something on my face?”

That earned a little giggle. “I’m only captivated by how handsome you are, darling, that’s all.”

When the Bentley was safely in the garage, Aziraphale bustled on into the house, while Crowley went back down the driveway to check the mail. All very routine. Right down to the massive pile of mostly-junk in Crowley’s hand as he walked through the garage and into the house.

Shoes kicked off by the garage steps, sorting through the mail, not looking down until something bounced away before his foot.

A bright yellow duck.

“... Aziraphale?”

Crowley dumped the mail onto the kitchen counter. The duck didn’t have a lot of answers for him, when he picked it up — it looked a lot like the ones that had been in his cube today, although that didn’t mean anything. It was easy to buy rubber ducks online.

He didn’t hear Aziraphale even after calling him a second time. But there was another duck. In the middle of the kitchen floor, pointed away from him and off to the left, toward the living room and... yep. A third duck, just before tile gave way to carpet.

He left the duck he’d kicked on a counter (“sorry, mate, no hard feelings”) and followed the trail. Ducks led him across the living room, and up the stairs, one every fourth step. Down the hall. Past the bathroom, past the plant room, into the bedroom, each one facing toward where the next would be...

On Aziraphale’s side of the fussily-made bed was one last duck. It looked back at Crowley from across the room like it expected _him_ to come up with an explanation for all this. And it was different from the others, he saw now — he grinned with the realization. It was the angel-halo duck. The one that Aziraphale had kept from his Crowley-devised ducking last year, and had given a prime spot on his desk at work after they’d gotten together.

The grin dropped away. Hang on. Same angel duck, yeah, but there was something off about its little molded plastic halo.

Crowley stepped very, very carefully across the room, and touched a finger to the halo. He picked up the thing that had been put on top of it, on top of the bit of plastic that had been shaped and painted to look like a ring of gold.

Maybe his brain had gone out for a nice walk. Maybe that was why he couldn’t understand the second ring of gold now resting in his palm.

Footsteps sounded, then, behind him, heavy and familiar. They moved from somewhere out in the hall to the bedroom door. A voice filled the room, soft and precise and just a little bit hesitant.

“I confess to being rather out of my depth here.” The voice laughed. “It’s not a common experience for me, and I can’t say I entirely enjoy it, but... at the same time, I’m glad.” Another footstep. “I’m so glad.”

Crowley nodded at the thing in his hand.

“Could you look at me, please, dear?”

“Uhh.” Okay, seemed like his feet worked. Seemed like his legs could turn him around.

Aziraphale stood just inside the doorway of their bedroom. He had that look on his face again, the one from earlier. The whole way home he’d been like that, every time Crowley had glanced over. Blushing just a little. Maybe just a bit wobbly around the smile. A little damp around the eyes.

Crowley’s knees could sympathize with the wobbliness.

“I don’t suppose I need to say anything, really. You don’t need me to explain.” Aziraphale fidgeted with his hands, just for a second, before clasping them firmly together. “You surely know by now that I love you. That I do find you terribly handsome, yes — I wasn’t joking on the way home, darling, you truly are captivating — but that I love you because of who you are. I dearly, dearly hope you know that.”

He stepped closer.

“You should know as well as I do how good, how _very_ good these last few months have been, how happy they’ve been. How happy you’ve _made_ me. You opened your home to me, and your life, and now it’s _our_ home, and, I pray, our life.”

Crowley really wished his brain would get back from its walk. He needed to be able to process this, maybe even think about having some kind of reaction besides open-mouthed staring.

“And I’d like that life to continue. I’d like to commit to sharing that life with you.” Aziraphale’s smile went blinding, bright and gorgeous and radiant, and the motion sent one shining tear down his cheek. “Forgive me. I’ve never done this before, and perhaps I’m making a mess of it. And you know what I’m about to ask, I’m sure, but — I am a bit of a traditionalist, so I hope you’ll indulge me —”

Aziraphale lowered himself to one knee.

“Crowley, my love,” he said, and Crowley really had no excuse for making a squeaky little noise of surprise. “The greatest treasure of my heart. Will you marry me?”

The ring was still in Crowley’s hand. His brain had finally slipped back in, getting up to speed pretty quickly given how much it had missed. It confirmed the obvious. That was an engagement ring. Meant, as it happened, for him.

“Gh,” he replied. “Um. Wh — yeah?”

He could feel his face warming, and it only got worse when Aziraphale’s eyes started sparkling with something more than just tears. “You know, I really can’t tell, dearest. Are you asking me, or telling me?”

Bastard. Stupid smug bastard.

“You — you have to put it on.” Crowley stumbled forward the last couple of steps between them, nearly dropping the ring before he could press it into Aziraphale’s hands. “When, when I say yes. You have to put it on. Me.”

Aziraphale looked up at him, eyebrows raised, mouth softly open. Waiting. Hoping for him to say...

“Of course,” Crowley said. “Fucking course I’ll marry you.”

He gave Aziraphale exactly enough time to ease the ring onto his finger, where it fit surprisingly well, given that it wasn’t like Crowley had told him his ring size. Crowley didn’t even know his ring size. Crowley had never had a ring on this finger in his damn life.

The millisecond it was done, he yanked Aziraphale to his feet. His arms were full of angel, then, full of _everything_ , and he folded him in close, feeling himself grabbed just as tightly. There was a shaking, gasping second where he was pretty sure they both would’ve embedded themselves in the other’s chest, if they could.

“Je t’aime,” Aziraphale said into Crowley’s neck. “A’shaquka, te amo — I love you, I do —”[2]

“My angel.” Crowley rocked them back and forth. “Love you forever, angel, I promise. All our life. Ours. Yours and mine.”

He kissed Aziraphale’s pale halo of curls. “Want to open that bottle you snuck into our basement?”

“You _peeked_ ,” Aziraphale gasped, raising his head to stare at Crowley in delicate shock, before allowing a little smile to touch his lips. “...but yes. I think that sounds like an excellent idea.”

This time, when Crowley kissed him, it was on that sweet little smile. It was a while before either of them remembered the wine.

* * *

“...although we could just go with roses, I suppose. A classic choice, if a bit... uncreative.”

Crowley wormed around until he’d achieved a more or less reclined position, one leg thrown over the arm of the sofa and one dangling off the front. He had his head in Aziraphale’s lap, and that was the important bit. Nestled on Aziraphale’s soft thighs, cheek resting against his belly. “Pretty sure you could let the wedding planner figure out the flower arrangements. Pretty sure it’s literally her job.”

“Oh, but it’s not as much _fun_ , letting her do it all.” Aziraphale didn’t stop scrolling on his phone, but at least he started using the other hand to pet Crowley’s hair. Little scritches, like Crowley was a cat. Which was more than okay by Crowley. “We could take a hint from the date we picked, do something in a spring sort of theme... sunny yellows, perhaps jonquils or chrysanthemums...”

Crowley’s slowly-closing eyes flew open. “Bright yellow?”

“With some lovely accent colors, of course. Purple irises. Forget-me-nots.”

“Just don’t theme it after ducks.”

“Ducks?” Aziraphale looked confused, but then a sly smile began making itself known. “Ah. Of course. Well, if you insist we don’t take the opportunity to honor our little plastic friends...”

Crowley groaned.

“Or all that our relationship owes to them...”

“You’re _killing_ me, Aziraphale.” Crowley shifted, turning his head so he could kiss Aziraphale’s belly, the perfect curve of it beneath his shirt. “No ducks. Think they’ve done enough for us already, anyway. Yeah?”

A soft chuckle. “Perhaps so.”

Crowley looked up at him, watched his pretty eyes flit over the phone screen. His face was all chins, from down here, and pudgy cheeks which looked even pudgier every time he smiled.

Supposed to be an unflattering angle, this. Crowley didn’t see it. Looking at Aziraphale was inherently good, period. A minor little detail like what angle he was looking at him from didn’t change a damn thing.

Aziraphale’s eyes turned his way, and this smile would have knocked Crowley down if he hadn’t already been flat on his back. “Bahng-wi shokh, parmaqqay.”[3]

Which wasn’t exactly a Klingon phrase Crowley was familiar with. But he knew it was probably one of about two things.

“Most mind-bendingly gorgeous thing in the universe, you are.” He pulled himself back upright, snuggling tightly to Aziraphale’s side, nestled in the arm already held out for him. “Love you so much it’s ridiculous. ‘M gonna _marry_ you, angel. Give you everything you ever want, just give me those big eyes, you know I will. But. _But_. No more ducks.”

Aziraphale relaxed against him, soft and round and perfect. “All right, love. I give you my word.”

He looked down at his phone again, and his mouth tilted into a smirk. His voice practically vibrated with glee, the bastard. The stupid beautiful bastard. “Perhaps we can design our wedding around another symbol of spring, hmm? What would you say to...”

Crowley blinked at the screen now being held up to him. A little ball of white fluff with ears. The caption under the picture helpfully noted that the fluff’s name was Harry.

“... _rabbits?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. For my Celsius pals, my 0 is your approximately -18. January and February in Wisconsin have a lot of nights where the low is somewhere south of there.[return to text]  
> 2\. "I love you" in French, Arabic and Spanish. More or less. [return to text]  
> 3\. "I love you, darling" in Klingon, more or less... and probably "less". People have apparently come up with a few different ways to say things like "I love you" in the language, given the vocabulary and stuff already known, and I just picked my favorite. (Well. My favorite is the one that translates to ["I permit you to use my superior bat'leth"](http://klingon.wiki/En/ILoveYou). But this was my favorite less-figurative one.) [return to text]  
> 
> 
> * * *
> 
> Thank you, everyone who came along with me on this little ride. I had a lot of fun repeatedly destroying Crowley via Adorable Angel Overload, and I hope it was also fun to read. I promise that even after they have been married for many, many years, he will still be a lovestruck disaster who can barely withstand his own husband's beauty. Because delightful.
> 
> I'm thinking of doing something a bit unusual for Thursday, and then starting [this fake dating AU](https://ineffablefool.tumblr.com/tagged/ifof%3A-the-fake-dating-au-because-why-not-i-guess) next week. My brain doesn't seem to be coming up with much in the way of canonverse stuff lately, but who knows what the future holds! Other than that it definitely holds me, thinking that you are all lovely. I hope you all have a fantastic last week of April 2020.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you were thinking of leaving a comment, please know that I treasure every single one. I've literally cried a few times reading some of the lovely things people have said, and they really are fuel for my soft little heart -- but never, ever required, so please don't feel pressured. 
> 
> If you want to say hi on Tumblr, I'm [ineffablefool](https://ineffablefool.tumblr.com) there, too.
> 
> I would never actively request art from anyone I wasn't paying, but if you, the human reading this, were to decide it was worth your time to create fanart based on any of my stories, I would be incredibly honored ([and would love to enshrine it forever on my Tumblr](https://ineffablefool.tumblr.com/tagged/ineffablefool-gets-fanart-from-lovely-people))! I have only one requirement: please don't draw Aziraphale any thinner than the size I headcanon (I need both my soft cuddly daydreams, and my positive fat representation). Here are some examples of what that sort of minimum body size/shape might look like: ([beautiful fanart created for me by Squeegeelicious](https://ineffablefool.tumblr.com/post/189282541139/squeegeelicious-a-walk-to-the-ritz-for)) ([speremint 1](https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186342035100/i-did-this-instead-of-my-hw-ya-girl-is-gonna)) ([speremint 2 from her Reversed Omens AU](https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186574829700/finally-finally-done-making-these-refs-my)) ([dotstronaut](https://dotstronaut.tumblr.com/post/186740069618/no-really-i-dont-think-you-all-understand-how)) Otherwise, the characters can look however you like!
> 
> I hope you're having a fantastic day.


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